


Mad Love: A New Beginning

by AmberZ10



Series: Mad Love [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Assault On Arkham, Batman: The Animated Series, Gotham City Sirens (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, F/F, Female Friendship, Frenemies, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Strong Female Characters, Therapy, harlivy - Freeform, red diamond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 88,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberZ10/pseuds/AmberZ10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Dr. Harleen Quinzel stopped in front of Poison Ivy's cell that first day rather than The Joker's? How would things change?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

A cherry red 1965 Mustang convertible picked its way through the treacherous, misplaced pavement on the singular winding road up to Gotham's own Arkham Asylum. The driver cursed as she failed to avoid a pothole just before the narrow road opened up into a private lot which the girl deduced was maintained only marginally better than the driveway. She cautiously allowed her car to creep forward, both to avoid another unfortunate pothole and also in an attempt to find a parking spot where she wouldn't be in anyone's way. The latter task proved rather simple when she noticed a sign in the space immediately to her right that read "Dr. Harleen Quinzel." The driver beamed.

"Doctor Harleen Quinzel," she said under her breath, mocking herself by adding extra emphasis to her credentials. She really was a doctor now- a real-life practicing psychiatrist. She pulled in, making sure she had spaced her vehicle an equal distance from the cars on either side. Harleen didn't know if being a bad driver was a blonde stereotype, but since just about everything else unsavory was, she assumed it was best to rise above any notion her physical attractiveness might force people to conceive. Harleen had already spent significant time being "that girl" and was now carefully setting herself up to mold a new reputation, one that she could be proud of. Her mother had always said first impressions were everything, and Harleen Quinzel was more than ready to make hers.

"Arkham, eat your heart out." She said to the rear-view mirror, her wide, powder-blue eyes staring intently back at her. She narrowed them, trying to make herself appear somehow "harder." Only a hunter would want a baby deer as their psychiatrist, and Harleen refused to be made a meal of. She quickly grabbed a comb out of her glove box and pushed a loose strand of blonde hair carefully back into place.

"Don't fuck this up, Harley." She pointed an accusatory index finger at herself in the mirror. "Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up."

"Harleen. Good to put a face to the name. I'm Doctor Joan Leland." The middle-aged brunette extended a hand. Harley set her briefcase on the ground and shook back, careful not to appear too eager or bashful. She wanted her colleagues to see her as a confident, qualified young woman.

"Just call me 'Harley'. Everyone does."

The woman smiled somewhat pleasantly at her, and then continued "I trust you found your parking space?"

Harley nodded. "I did, yes." She wished there was more to say, something to elaborate on to impress or interest her new boss, but complementing the facilities would be horribly disingenuous.

"How about you set your things down in the office and I'll give you the tour."

Harley followed Dr. Leland to a room at the end of the hall past the security checks. It appeared to be a doctor's lounge of some sort with a small kitchen unit comprised of a counter and sink on the left hand side. Two men in matching white lab coats sat on the couches, each claiming one for himself.

"This is Dr. Graham and Dr. Cain." Leland gestured to the man on the left first, and then the right. "Gentleman, meet our newest resident psychiatrist, Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

"But you can call me 'Harley'." She grinned, forgetting for a moment that she was attempting to come off as a stoic professional.

"We usually keep it to last names only here at Arkham, Dr. Quinzel. It sets a good example for the patients."

"Oh," Harley hoped her face didn't appear as red as it felt. "Of course."

Harley gave a slightly awkward nod to her new co-workers and somewhat clumsily set her briefcase down against the wall. Dr. Leland turned out of the room without saying another word and Harley followed close behind. The two women rounded a corner, passing by another security check, and were all at once standing at the end of a wide hallway. The walls were lined with glass-doored cells, and Harley could hear spirited conversations between the prisoners- err, "patients"- wafting towards her.

Dr. Leland had abruptly stopped her forward momentum and turned to Harley who noticed the change in direction in barely enough time to stop from clattering into the woman.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Harley…" Leland said the nickname like comradery was a foreign concept, "but why are you here?"

Harley's breath caught in her throat. "Ex-excuse me?"

The woman's face softened slightly. "With grades like yours you could have gone anywhere. Why are you here? Why would you subject yourself to this?"

Harley was relieved. It seemed to her that Dr. Leland had meant her comment as a compliment. "To be honest Joan, I'm simply fascinated by the criminal psyche, extreme personalities especially. Working here is actually a bit of a dream come true."

Joan snorted. "That will wear off quickly." She starts off down the hallway again. "I hope you're not planning on writing a tell-all book about this. These people can see a cash grab coming a mile away. They are animals and they will use any leverage or perceived weakness to get the upper hand."

Harley kept in stride with her boss, her strong gymnast legs easily carrying her weight. "Well you can't deny there's an element of glamour to these super criminals…"

They were passing the first set of cells now. A man peered out of one on the left hand side, obsessively licking the glass.

"But no, on principal I am not at Arkham simply for the elevated profile." Harley finished.

"Then there's a chance you might survive here." Leland said, stopping with her back to a seemingly empty cell.

Harley looked over the woman's shoulder at the warmly lit three-walled room. A shelf containing a variety of potted plants was set against the glass. Harley could see one of them blooming, an eye-catching crimson blossom.

"Step away from the glass, Joker." Dr. Leland implored a patient in the opposite direction of Harley's attention, then sighed, lowering her voice back to a conversational volume. "You'll come to know the occupants pretty quickly. Which ones are beyond hope of reform and which ones just happened to lose their way. It's a fairly simple delineation in most cases."

Harley watched as a woman's hand reached out from behind the brick portion of the cell and watered the potted plants. Harley squinted her eyes, unable to tell if the green tint to the woman's skin was just a trick of the light or some sort of bizarre condition. "And what about the other cases?" Harley asked, brushing by Dr. Leland towards the woman's hand as it retracted with the watering can back out of sight. "The ones who aren't so cut and dry?"

Dr. Leland turned to see where Harley was headed. "Master manipulators. They will set a trap and have you wrapped around their finger before you know it. You have to continually remind yourself that you are in charge of the situation. You are not powerless." Leland watched for a moment. "And that one?" She pointed to the cell which Harley was now standing directly in front of. "She's the worst one."

"Who?" Harley turned away from Dr. Leland to peer into the cell and was startled by the breathtaking red-headed woman standing just on the other side of the glass. It was not a trick of the light; the woman's skin did in fact have a green tint to it. But what Harley found considerably more engrossing was her eyes. They shone an almost alarming shade of harlequin green, like they had been colored by an electrically charged magic marker.

"Poison Ivy," The red-head purred in response to Harley's question, her breath creating clouds of condensation on the glass. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."


	2. 2

Poison Ivy’s voice had a melodic quality to it that made Harley want to move closer to the glass, nearer to the sound.

  
“YOOHOO! Blondie!” a distinctive male voice escaped a cell behind her. The sharpness of the man’s tone curdled Harley’s stomach acid.

 

“Joker!” Dr. Leland once again yelled at the cell on the opposite side of the room. “I said step back from the glass!”

  
“But Joanie,” the man pleaded “your new friend is just so positively scrumptious!”

  
“I’m warning you, Joker.” Dr. Leland spat, her tone biting- protective. “Don’t make me revoke your cafeteria privileges.”

  
“You’re never any fun, Joanie. Can’t you take a joke?” The man pouted.

  
Although Harley always appreciated a good pun, she hadn’t felt the need to turn around and watch the exchange. She knew what The Joker looked like, she had seen him on TV. It was actually his case that had drawn Harley to Arkham in the first place. His mania was so unpredictable that she had seen him as a challenge, one that might earn her respect within the mental health community. But there was something in this woman’s eyes, this…Poison Ivy that dared Harley not to look away, not to even blink.

  
“This, Dr. Quinzel, is Pamela Isley.” Leland had evidently returned her attention to Harley.

  
“Dr. Pamela Isley, PhD.” The red-head corrected, a smirk playing along her lips as she finally- wordlessly- allowed Harley to shift her gaze. “As long as we’re throwing around our credentials, Ms. Leland…” she put extra emphasis on the informal title, “I’d like our new friend here to know exactly what she’s dealing with. We’re all professionals, after all. Although, when weighed against each other, most would agree that the requirements for a degree in botanical engineering are far more rigorous than for psychology.”

  
“Psychiatry. Forensic psychiatry.” Now it was Harley’s turn to correct.

  
Ivy’s ears pricked up. “Ah, she speaks.”

  
Harley blushed despite herself.

  
Leland crossed her arms. “Dr. Isley here is what we refer to as a ‘meta-human’.”

  
“Like Superman?” Harley asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

  
Ivy scoffed at the comparison. “Believe me, Daffodil, I look a lot better in tights than that overgrown boy scout.”

  
“Shall we move along?” Dr. Leland asked, putting a hand on Harley’s shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to go over Pamela’s storied history in session.”

  
Ivy didn’t attempt to hide her disgust at the name Joan had used. “’Pamela is the name of someone’s grandmother or a certain gullible teacher’s pet.” She focused her attention solely on Harley. “You will refer to me as ‘Dr. Isley’ or ‘Poison Ivy’ or you will not refer to me at all. Is that understood, Daffodil?”

  
Harley’s lips began moving before her mind could catch up. “Ye-“ was Harley about to say ‘yes, ma’am’? To a patient? She was, she actually was. A ‘master manipulator’. Harley remembered Dr. Leland’s warning and narrowed her eyes at the meta-human standing before her to harden her features. “I am your doctor, Pamela. I will refer to you however I please and you will address me as ‘Dr. Quinzel’ only. I am not your friend. I am not some flower to be cultivated,” Harley gestured to the potted plants that stood between Ivy and the glass. “I am here to help you reform.”

  
Harley had expected the woman to don a look of defeat or humility, something to acknowledge ‘Dr. Quinzel’s’ assertion of dominance. She did not expect for Poison Ivy to smile, though. But smile she did. A sly, glamorous migration of the woman’s plump red lips, revealing a set of perfectly straight ivory teeth that looked even brighter up against the green tint of her skin.  
“I’ll be seeing you in session, Dr. Quinzel.” The words oozed from her lips like honey from a beehive. “I’m looking forward to it.”


	3. 3

Harley and Dr. Leland stopped outside of a locked, wooden door just past the doctor’s lounge. It was the last stop on their tour.  
“Well those are the basics. It might take some time to get used to the layout, and again, get used to the patients, but I think you’ll catch on quick. You seem very bright.”

  
Harley was powerless against the grin that spread over her face. Her smiles tended to not be restricted to her mouth. They were a full face, full body movement. She so rarely received a compliment on her acumen rather than her physical “assets”, and it felt unbelievably good coming from her superior- her female superior. Male professors and co-workers were never shy in showing their fondness, although it was usually in reference to her impressive flexibility on the gymnastics mat or her shapely, athletic physique rather than her intelligence or academic interests. With a woman, Harley thought it was less likely there was an ulterior motive.  
“Thank you, Joan- or, Dr. Leland. Yes, I think I’ll get the hang of it sooner rather than later.”

  
Joan smiled back at her. “You won’t have any sessions for the rest of today or tomorrow. This time should be dedicated to studying the files of the patients we’ve assigned you. You need to know them inside and out. Knowledge is power, Dr. Quinzel, and you should have every possible weapon at your disposal when you walk in.”

  
“Yes, Ma’am.” Harley nodded, the excitement beginning to bubble up into her chest.

  
“This is your office.” Leland said, gesturing to the door and placing a singular key in Harley’s hand. “You will find the necessary case files on your desk.” She gave a curt nod and headed back towards the doctor’s lounge.

  
Harley took a few excited breaths before slipping the key into the lock and turning the handle. Her office was sparsely decorated, in fact, the only thing in the entire room was a large wooden desk which sat oddly at the center. Harley could plainly see the reading material Leland had assigned her but the bouquet of flowers sitting atop it was unexpected. Bright yellow and bound together in a pretty green vase, the daffodils provided the sole source of color in the otherwise drab room. Harley set her briefcase down and approached the desk somewhat cautiously. As she came up on the desk, she could plainly see a white piece of paper tied to the neck of the vase. Gingerly, she tore it off. Scrawled in well plotted cursive, the note read:

  
_So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,_  
 _So long lives this, and this brings life to thee._

  
And was signed “Pamela” in the same penmanship.

  
Harley plucked a flower from the bunch and raised it to her nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled fresh, like the first day of spring, like freshly cut grass and baseball in the front yard. It smelled like home. A bizarre mix of emotions washed over Harley then, all of which seemed to gang up on her, bringing a single tear to her eye. She blinked and the droplet fell from her lashes and onto the note. There it mixed with the black ink, distorting it, blurring the smooth peaks and valleys of the letters. Harley hadn’t the slightest clue why the smell had affected her in such a way, why the sudden bout of nostalgia had overwhelmed her and sunk beneath her skin, but she knew breaking into a psychiatrist’s office was strictly against the rules.

/

  
Harley approached the woman’s cell cautiously, the same way she had the flowers. Although her rational mind was reminding her that there was no real danger while Poison Ivy was in her cell, she decided it was better to be safe than sorry. And anyway, how did she get the flowers in Harley’s office? She was locked in her cell and the office door was locked…Harley decided that her caution was warranted.

  
The young doctor could see the villainess laying on her cot absentmindedly curling a piece of her thick red hair with her finger. She was turned slightly towards the back wall of her cell, at just enough of an angle that Harley could approach her without being noticed.

  
“Hey, sweetcheeks!” That same sharp male voice yelled. Harley stopped in her tracks, the heat of Joker’s gaze on her neck. Poison Ivy had evidently heard him too because she sat up and her eyes met Harley’s. The Joker had effectively thwarted her stealth mode.

  
“Why hello, Dr. Quinzel. Back so soon?”

  
Harley restrained the arm that was attempting to bonk her in the forehead for her stupidity.

  
Ivy made a show of crossing her long legs. “Did you like my little gift?”

  
Harley pulled on her professional exterior once more and approached the glass with all the feigned confidence she could muster.  
“I did.” She smiled somewhat coldly, like Dr. Leland would. “I’m sure the guards would be interested to know you were out of your cell.”

  
“Mmm…I thought this one could be our little secret.” Ivy winked, her long eyelashes making the not-so-subtle movement all the more dramatic.

  
Harley crossed her arms and looked the woman up and down. It took all she had not to want to cover herself up for how inadequate she felt standing before this woman. But she didn’t let it show, instead, she pushed her round glasses further up the bridge of her nose and smiled her wide, charming smile. “Navigating this place must be a breeze for you.”

  
Ivy looked somewhat intrigued and sat forward slightly.

  
“Well, I mean, look at you. Beautiful, smart and a meta-human? This place must just be your personal playground. Use your assets or your fancy vocabulary to get a guard to let you out of your cell. Sit silently during therapy sessions, wasting everyone’s time all the while plotting your escape…You’re the queen of your domain. And then what? You get out, you break the law, you get caught, you get thrown back in here.”

  
Ivy’s body language shifted slightly. She was not pushing out her chest as far anymore and her back was somewhat rounded. Her expression remained the same, though, sultry with a hint of vapid.

  
“Gosh.” Harley continued. “A hyper-intelligent scientist with a PhD, and yet here you are. Playing your little games. It all just seems so…sad.” And with that, Harley turned her back on the woman and started swiftly back to her office. A spring in her step, a smile on her face.  
The Joker catcalled her as she passed his cell, but she hardly even registered it. Doctor Harleen Quinzel was in the building.


	4. 4

“Pamela Lillian Isley.” Harley read aloud as she cracked open the thick file on her desk. The envelope showed signs of wear on its binding, Harley could tell she wasn’t the first psychiatrist to delve into Ms. Isley’s medical file, but with any luck, she might be the last.

  
Pamela’s mugshot was paper clipped to the inside cover and Harley was reasonably aghast at how gorgeous the woman could look even in such an unflattering setting.  
She flipped past the photo and noticed Ms. Isley’s age was redacted, but her birthplace was there: Seattle, Washington. Harley herself had never been to Seattle. She’d never even been outside of Gotham, in fact. ‘OK, well, that’s not entirely true’, she acknowledged. As a child and teenager Harley had been an accomplished competitive gymnast and her talent had taken her all across the country competing for medals and awards. Even so, those trips were hardly meant for the enjoyment of the athlete. The girls weren’t allowed out of their hotel rooms and had a strict curfew and diet regimen that they lived by. Gripping the sides of the file now, Harley swore she could still feel the chalk on her hands. She wiped them on her skirt despite protest from her rational mind.

  
“Isley, born to wealthy parents…” she skimmed, “advanced botanical chemistry and botanical engineering…Dr. Jason Woodrue.” Harley stopped and heeded the addendum next to his name. She flipped to the appropriate page of the file. “Dr. Jason Woodrue,” she repeated, tapping her ballpoint pen against her lips. “Floronic Man…” There were two pictures of the man included in the file, one of a somewhat zany looking brunette, and the other some horribly distorted creature with elongated features and a nymph-like body constructed of…well…wood, it appeared. What Harley found more alarming was the young woman standing next to his more human likeness. She was pale with freckles splashed across her bare face. Thick, black-rimmed glasses teetered on the end of her nose and her dirty red hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. Stray locks of hair had fallen onto her shoulder and despite her immature age, there were heavy bags under her green eyes. Harley knew that look, she knew it well. It was the look of a student who had pulled an all-nighter cramming for a test or trying to finish some paper. The young woman’s posture was lacking, making her appear small and meek in comparison to the lanky man standing next to her. Her smile was also tired, half-hearted. But it wasn’t just that. The woman was smiling at her professor sheepishly, like she was embarrassed to even be looking. She was taking advantage of his removed attention to gaze at him. And it was really not a smile at all, now that Harley looked closer, it was the beginnings of a bashful grin. The woman in that picture was not the villainous Poison Ivy, she was Pamela Isley, as nature had intended.

  
Harley had planned to turn in for the night, but when she opened her desk drawer to stow her files she found a collection of video tapes, as many tapes as there were files. She shuffled them around until she found what she was looking for- the tape labeled “Pam.” Fleetingly, Harley wondered what Poison Ivy would think of that nickname and Harley smiled a little, doubting she would like it.

  
She pushed the tape into the VCR which stood along with the TV in the shadows of the heavy curtains near the window. Pushing her round glasses up on the bridge of her nose again and examining the remote, Harley triumphantly pressed the ‘play’ button. The black screen gave way to an image of that same young PhD candidate from the photo. She was sitting across a table in an empty room. A man’s voice came from somewhere behind the camera.

  
“Why do you want to work at Wayne Enterprises, Dr. Isley?” He asks.

  
She looks uneasily at the camera, clearly uncomfortable. “Well…” She says, finally. “I want to change the world. I want to help save it, and your facilities are arguably the best in the country.” Despite her ambitious language, Pamela’s voice was rather quiet, although the melodic quality Harley had noted earlier was still there.

  
The tape then made a harsh cut to a rather shaky video taken outdoors. It’s night and the camera appears to be trained on Gotham’s First National Bank. The building, which Harley knew was one of the tallest new additions to the city’s skyline, was surrounded by thick green vines that slithered around it, pulsing, squeezing, creating cracks in the building’s infrastructure. Bystanders screamed as a vine shot out of one of the second story windows and a green-skinned woman, clad in a suit made from leaves and vines, stepped out past the ledge, allowing the vine to carry her closer to the ground. It was Poison Ivy in full effect.

“You sorry meatsacks.” She yelled.

Harley jumped back as the Ivy in the video thrust her hand forward and the vines from around the building began to attack the citizens. One smashed into the camera lens and the video cut out.

  
Harley sat there in the silence, unaware she was gripping the edge of her desk until her hand began to ache. She leaned back, relinquishing her grip and using the remote to turn off the TV.

  
“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.” Harley said aloud to herself, although it was really more of a whisper, her high voice barely audible even in the empty room.


	5. 5

“You can never go wrong with Shakespeare.” Poison Ivy whispered to the little cactus by her cot. “The sonnets are accessible, even for those who aren’t all that well read.” She twirled her hair on her index finger but sighed at the current smoothness of her skin. She’d been in Arkham so long her calluses had healed. Ivy longed to put her hands back in the soil. She closed her eyes and could almost feel the moist earth between her fingers and caked under her nails.

Ivy rolled her eyes at the cactus, which had evidently responded to her somehow. “She’s a psychiatrist, that’s hardly a doctor. Her job is to keep us dosed up and pretend she has even an inkling of insight into the useless abyss that is the typical human brain.” She reached a hand out and gently stroked the thorns that jutted out from the plant. “No, I’m not saying she’s dumb…but she is reckless. I could kill her in a second and she doesn’t seem to be terribly concerned.”

“Isley, who are you talking to?” The guard standing outside her cell demanded.

“Myself.” She replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m crazy, remember? Criminally insane. Why else would I be in here?”  
The guard quickly glanced around her cell at the potted plants.

“Fine. But if that cactus so much as looks at me funny…”

Ivy sighed. “You, sir, are utterly insignificant. Don’t I have a therapy session you should be taking me to?”

Dr. Quinzel was already waiting in her chair, notebook in hand, when Ivy entered the room. The blonde was wearing a red button down with a white necktie and a matching white pencil skirt under her lab coat. Ivy knew then that Dr. Quinzel likely came from a poor family because she looked like a little girl playing professional dress up in her father’s only good suit. Although Ivy had to admit that the doctor was wearing the outfit rather admirably, sure the skirt helped, but even with some skin-tight assistance a necktie was not an easy accessory for a woman to pull off.

“You’re looking rather dapper.” Ivy told her as sensually as she could while being forcibly led in chains.

“Why thank you, Ms. Ivy. Go ahead and take a seat. We’re good here, Clarence.” She smiled at the guard and he ducked out of the room. The Harley turned to Ivy who had lain herself down on the reclining patient’s chair. “Is it OK if I call you ‘Ivy’? I seem to remember you saying ‘Poison Ivy’ or ‘Dr. Isley’.”

Ivy smiled at the girl. It wasn’t just the tie that made Dr. Quinzel look young, Ivy realized. She was young. And her eyes, so big and blue- had an innate and unshakable innocence to them that, frankly, disappointed Ivy. This no longer appeared to be the challenge she had hoped for. “’Ivy’ is fine.”

The young doctor looked pleased. ‘Aww…’ Ivy thought. ‘She’s counting that as a victory.’ “I’m sorry,” Ivy said aloud, “but I never did catch your first name.”

“It’s ‘Harleen’.” She said, “But for the sake of these sessions I think it’s best that you call me ‘Dr. Quinzel’.”

“Fair enough.” Ivy conceded. “Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your big, bad boss.”

Dr. Quinzel hardly let Ivy’s mouth shut before stating, “So you’re a diagnosed bi-polar with obsessive compulsive tendencies?” She phrased it like a question, but it was clearly rhetorical.

“Oh…” Ivy propped herself up on her elbow. “No foreplay? I’m disappointed, Dr. Quinzel. With that pretty little figure of yours I thought you’d have more finesse.”

“Do you always deflect difficult questions with sexual innuendo?” the doctor shot back without blinking, but Ivy could see a slight blush creeping up her cheeks.

Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Did you not read my file? I usually secrete pheromones to go with the whole routine but unfortunately they don’t work on women so I’m afraid I’ll have to go in dry.” She chuckled at her own joke.

Harleen smirked. “Is that what happened with Jason Woodrue? You seduced him? Because from the file it sounds like it was the other way around.”

Now it was Ivy’s turn to feel heat rising in her cheeks, this, however, was out of anger rather than bashfulness or flattery. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, little girl.” Ivy said as sweetly as she could. Cloyingly sweet, in fact.

“Why is it so important for you to assert your superiority over people by degrading them? I’m a doctor, Ivy, we’ve gone over this. I am not a flower and I’m most certainly not a little girl.” She leaned back in her chair slightly, whether to put space between she and her patient or to assume a sort of “power stance”, Ivy wasn’t sure. “That teacher’s pet you were talking about the other day, the one that deserved the name ‘Pamela’, that was you? I know Jason Woodrue was your professor back in college.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. Her therapy sessions were always about either Woodrue or her emotionally distant parents. The doctors always wanted to make a victim out of her, but Poison Ivy was not a victim. Pamela was, sure, but she had left Pamela behind a long time ago. “Yes.” Ivy finally said, knowing full well that the only way to get past this subject and back to her cell was to admit to some things, just enough to satisfy the doctor’s prodding, but not enough to ever really give anything away. “He was my professor and my PhD supervisor.”

“And you were in love with him?”

Ivy sighed. What a comical notion. What an innocent notion. “I was enamored by his acumen.”

“Enamored…” Dr. Quinzel repeated, scribbling something on her notebook. “He impressed you. He inspired you.”

Ivy nodded. “He was a brilliant scientist at the top of my field. He took an interest in me and I was flattered. That was the extent of our relationship.”

“And he asked that you trust him.”

Ivy ran her long, elegant fingers down her pant leg, smoothing out the wrinkles. “At the time I had no reason not to. Other than that he was a man, of course.” She chuckled to herself again. “Which honestly should have been a red flag for me at the start.”

The doctor was writing something. “So at this point, you’ve sworn off an entire gender.”

Smiling, Ivy purred, “an entire sex, daffodil. Surely as a psychiatrist you should know the difference.”

The doctor couldn’t keep the heat out of her cheeks this time. There was something nervous about the blush, something insecure. “I think that was just an excuse for you to say ‘sex’, Dr. Isley.”

Ivy’s smile was wide with mischief now. “Oh, so it’s ‘Dr. Isley’ now, is it?”

Harleen was scribbling furiously in her notebook, and from studying the patterns of her hand, Ivy deduced that she was doing just that- scribbling rather than making actual notes. Ivy found her obvious discomfort endearing. “Would you like to ask about my childhood now, or shall we save that for next time?”

“Guard!” Dr. Quinzel said, getting up from her chair and folding the cover of her notebook back into place. “Let’s pick that up next time, Dr. Isley.”

“Again,” Ivy said, biting her bottom lip. “I look forward to your insight.”

Harleen rolled her eyes at the suggestive movement and knocked on the window for Clarence. Ivy was ushered out of the room shortly thereafter.


	6. 6

“Come on, Pam. I’ve watched you check that five times already. You’re done.” Alec put his hands on Pamela’s shoulders, straightening her back from where it was hunched over her desk.

“I’m really not.” Pam said, flinching a bit at the unwelcome contact.

“Damian, Linda and I are going to blow off some steam. You look like you could use a drink.” His eyes twinkled as he craned his neck around in front of her, trying his very best to break her unwavering concentration.

Pamela punched something into her calculator. “I don’t drink.”

“OK, well, maybe it’s time you let your hair down.” Alec squeezed her shoulders, sending a shiver down her spine. “Seriously, Pam, when was the last time you went anywhere without Woodrue? That guy’s a stiff.”

Pamela set her pencil down and turned to Alec. “That ‘guy’ is our boss.”

“Exactly!” Alec laughed. “Come on, Pam. One night out with your peers isn’t going to kill you. You already have that apprenticeship in the bag, anyway. You’re just competing against yourself at this point.”

“You are your own worst enemy, right?” Pam smiled placidly up at her co-worker.

He returned his hands to her shoulders, this time looking at her straight on. “You don’t need another enemy, Pam. You need a friend.”

Pamela sighed. “Fine. What’s Linda like?”

“Incredible.” Alex beamed. “I wouldn’t have married her if she were anything less.”

“Ah.” Finally, some animation had found its way into Pam’s expression. “So you’re a prick at home too then.”

“A prick?” Alec laughed. “Why Ms. Isley, I do declare…” He fanned himself with his hand. “We’d been working together for four years before I even knew you could talk, and now here you are, calling me a prick.”

Pam laughed, a real laugh, throaty and altogether pleasant. “It was the most accurate-“

“Pamela? What are you doing?” A man’s voice came from the doorway.

Alec spun around in that direction. “Professor Woodrue, I was just inviting Dr. Isley out for a drink.”

The professor was leaning against the doorframe that separated the laboratory and the office. His brown hair was a tangled mess on his head and his beard was untrimmed and littered with scraggly grey flecks. When added to his fraying clothing, the professor could be described as generally disheveled. “Pamela doesn’t drink.” He said, pushing off and starting into the room.

Alec began to look a bit uneasy. “No, yeah, I know. She doesn’t have to drink.” He turned back to Pam, stating reassuringly “you don’t have to drink.”

Pamela nodded back in a clear attempt to placate both men.

“She’s working.” The professor said, coming to stand behind the wooden chair Pam was still sitting in.

“She’s finished.” Alec pointed out the completed equation on her paper.

Woodrue’s eyes narrowed at Alec. In a show of dominance, he patted Pamela on the head, much like one would a good dog.

“I’m…I’m still working.” Pamela said, turning back to her paper.

Alec looked a little upset, but Pamela refused to make further eye contact so he simply left without another word to either of them.

/

  
Poison Ivy wistfully stroked the frond of her potted fern, gently massaging the green in between her fingers. Despite her reverent touch, she felt a distracted restlessness in her mind that was rather unfamiliar. If Ivy had to guess, she would say the feeling was boredom. She had only been in Arkham two weeks this time and was already getting antsy. Usually it took three to six months for her to get fed up with the monotonous routine. But maybe it wasn’t the routine she found so tedious, maybe she was bored with herself. Ivy scrunched her nose at the thought. She had always been a bit of a lone wolf, even when she was Pamela. She did things that served her and served her cause. She didn’t care about human existence let alone human company. But now, sitting alone in her cell, the silence was almost deafening.

Ivy’s cafeteria privileges were revoked when she spat poison on a guard immediately after Batman dropped her off. They never even gave her a chance to apologize! Not that she would have…but still! She would have liked the benefit of the doubt. Feed a few people to your Venus Flytrap and suddenly you’re barely worthy of basic human decency.

“Hello Dr. Isley.”

Ivy’s ears pricked up at the high, clear voice of her new psychiatrist. Dr. Quinzel approached her cell, tray of food in hand.

“I thought I would eat lunch with you today.” The blonde said, a wide smile on her face.

Ivy raised an eyebrow, failing to understand this therapeutic approach. “Why?”

Harleen shrugged. “I heard you weren’t allowed in the cafeteria and thought you might be lonely.”

“Companionship is a human desire.” Ivy said matter-of-factly, grabbing her watering can from where it sat on her shelf and tipping it into the base of her fern.

Dr. Quinzel shook her head, sitting down in front of Ivy’s cell. “You see the need for companionship in almost any species, even plants. That’s what an ecosystem is, isn’t it? A community of plants aiding in a common goal?”

Ivy sighed and crossed her arms. “In the most rudimentary of terms.”

“Mm.” Harleen grunted, pleased with herself as she took a bite of her sandwich. “It’s tuna.” She told Ivy, unprompted.

Ivy eyed her sideways. “It smells absolutely disgusting.”

“I know!” Harleen laughed. “It tastes horrible too, if you can believe it.” The sandwich plopped soggily back onto her tray.

“I can.” Ivy said, sitting down on the cot behind her.

Dr. Quinzel reached into the pocket of her lab coat and produced a pack of gum. “You want one?” She asked, holding the pack up to the holes in the glass door.  
Ivy cocked her head at the bizarre show of friendliness. When she didn’t answer Harleen shrugged and unwrapped a piece for herself, popping it into her mouth and chewing it quickly. “Suit yaself.”

“Did you grow up in Gotham?” Ivy asked, inquiring about the momentary slip in the doctor’s accent.

“Oh, god.” Harleen closed her eyes. “I was hoping you didn’t catch that. Yes, born and raised in Gotham City. I’ve been training myself out of that accent since I started college.”

“Why?” Ivy asked, although she could venture a guess.

“Blonde hair, this body and that stupid accent? They wouldn’t have even let me into the classroom let alone given me a degree.”

Ivy laughed at that despite herself. The girl had a point, it would have been easy to assume that she was simple minded, not that the jury had come back on that yet.

“You know the drill.” Harley said, taking a bite of her apple. “You were a pretty girl.”

Ivy’s fists clenched and back stiffened involuntarily. “No. I am a beautiful woman.”

“Oh, of course.” Harleen chewed. “I’m talking about Pamela.”

Poison bit at the back of Ivy’s throat. “Pamela didn’t care if she was pretty.”

Harleen took another bite of the red fruit. “But Ivy does?”

“Ivy doesn’t have to care because she is pretty.” She uttered through clenched teeth.

The young doctor set the now bare apple core back on her tray. “Do you often refer to yourself in the third person?”

Ivy took a deep, calming breath, realizing that this whole act was just a cleverly posed therapy session. “That’s Two-Face’s schtick, we try not to step on each other’s toes here.”

“So you acknowledge that you and Pamela are the same person.” Harleen popped another piece of gum into her mouth, she had evidently swallowed the last one.

“Of course.” Ivy ran a hand through her long, red hair. “I’m not that crazy.”

“No.” Dr. Quinzel smiled. “I don’t think you are either.”


	7. 7

Harley sat in the doctor’s lounge updating her case notes. Her last session with Jonathan Crane had gone rather well, she thought. Their conversation was smooth if not a little bizarre. Crane had been a mental health professional himself once, and it broke Harley’s heart to have to put up with delusions that the patient could have easily diagnosed in himself. ‘With all the doctors that end up in Arkham, the GCPD should start putting medical students on watch lists,’ she thought, chuckling to herself as she signed her name and date at the bottom of the report.

Her impromptu session with Ivy had put her in an excellent mood. Although Harley didn’t fully understand the extent of her patient’s powers yet, she had confirmed that Pamela was more human than she thought. Harley had also come to the conclusion that Pamela was likely suffering from Narcissistic Personality Disorder, which, although fairly obvious, was not denoted in her file. What happens when you give a narcissist super-human abilities? Poison Ivy. That’s what happens.

Dr. Leland sat down on the couch next to Harley with an exhausted sigh.

“Long day?” Harley asked, cheerfully.

“They’re all long days, Dr. Quin.” The older woman said, her eyes partially closed.

“It’s Quinzel.” Harley smiled. She liked Dr. Leland, she was serious, but also strong willed and sharp as a whip. Harley wondered if that’s what Pamela would have grown up to be if she hadn’t met Jason Woodrue. Of course, she probably still would have been a narcissist, but a narcissist for the greater good at least.

“I’m sorry.” Leland mumbled. “The Joker was my last session and I always come out of those things worse than before.”

“Oh.” Harley was somewhat intrigued, after all, the Joker made for a fascinating psychological study, but what she really wanted was to tell Joan about the progress she’d made with Poison Ivy.

“Clarence told me you visited Isley’s cell today.”

Harley almost squealed with joy at not having to bring the topic up herself. “I did.”

“Why?” The woman asked, not looking at her.

“Well…” Harley started, trying to sound a little less excited than she was. “In our first session, Dr. Isley made a comment about how the whole ‘vixen of the vines’ routine usually included the use of pheromones. But she used that word, she said ‘routine’. When I was a gymnast my strong suit was the beam, I was pretty terrible on the floor so my coach would make me stay afterwards to practice my floor routine over and over and over again until it was perfect.” Harley paused for a moment to make sure Joan was still listening. She was. “The more I practiced the more I hated it, and come competition time I was dreading it even though I could have done that routine in my sleep.”

“So…” Joan said, hoping to lead Harley to the end of her analogy.

“So…” Harley said, “I think that, at this point, the temptress act is nothing more than a floor routine, and Ivy is tired of it. But every time she gets into that setting with a doctor or an authority figure, she starts it up like she’s on autopilot. Just like I could do my choreography with my eyes closed.”

Joan raised an eyebrow. “Is your theory that Poison Ivy is dissociating?”

“Well, no. Not exactly.” Harley told her. I’m saying that the only way to talk to the woman underneath it all is to disrupt her routine. Keep her on her toes because otherwise she’ll wall up and start going through the motions. That’s why I’d like to hold our next session outside.”

“What? No. Absolutely not. There’s grass in the yard, Dr. Quinzel, and she’s Poison Ivy.” Joan was adamant.

Harley smiled and pushed her glasses back up the slope of her nose. “I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

/

  
The wind whipped at Harley’s trench coat as she looked at her watch for what felt like the 100th time. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail rather than her usual bun, but the wind had even corrupted that by pulling her bangs out of their bobby pins. Bangs were fine for around the house or dinner with a friend, but in this professional setting Harley thought they made her look entirely too young. Her teeth began to chatter and she thanked her lucky stars she had worn black slacks and a red turtleneck that day rather than her usual skirt and blouse. And then she wasn’t alone anymore.

Harley gasped as the Dark Knight materialized behind her. “W-w-where’d you—“

“Dr. Quinzel?” Batman interrupted her stammering.

She nodded in confirmation. Harley had been a citizen of Gotham her whole life but had never been this close to Batman, and he had certainly never addressed her directly.

“What you’re doing here is risky. Even with me around.” He warned in his gravelly voice.

Harley nodded again, but was brave enough to speak this time. “I really think it will be OK. If not, then I will go down for it without protest.”

Batman smirked, he liked this girl already. “You’re new here?”

“That’s right.” Harley said, trying to keep the hair out of her eyes. “It’s my first week.”

His cape flapped in the wind as he spoke. “And they stuck you with Poison Ivy? That’s a difficult assignment.”

“Well Dr. Leland and I are the only women on staff and she seems to have her hands full with The Joker.” Harley pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders.

Batman’s jaw was clenched. “I see you are learning from your mistakes. Ivy can’t be trusted around men.”

Harley noted the shift in his expression and guessed there was probably some personal history there that she should look into. “I think it’s more that men can’t be trusted around Ivy.”

To Harley’s surprise, Batman nodded. “Perhaps.”

A moment of silence passed between them as he sized her up once again. “You won’t know where I am.” He said, finally. “But as soon as I see her make a move I’ll be down there.”

“You mean ‘if’ you see her make a move.” Harley clarified.

Batman smirked again and the two were hit by a gust of wind so powerful it knocked Harley off kilter. She steadied herself, but when she looked up the Dark Knight was gone.


	8. 8

Pamela really had been done with her work, but she stayed all the same, checking an equation that she knew was correct. Every so often she would glance up at Professor Woodrue who appeared to be repotting her test subjects into much smaller containers. She grimaced with each move he made, knowing that the plant’s root systems would soon outgrow the containers he’d chosen. But she bit her tongue. He was a more senior expert than she; it was not her place.

Pamela was checking her equation for the 12th time when Woodrue finally finished whatever supremely unhelpful project he had embarked on. She took that as her cue to leave and exchanged her lab coat for the green down vest that hung on the back of her chair.

“Oh, Pam. Hang back for a second, would you?” The professor asked.

“Sure thing.” She gathered up her things and walked over to where he was now seated behind his desk.

He smiled up at her, a sort of off-brand handsome hidden within his angular features. “As I’m sure you know; I was supposed to announce my assistant sometime this week.”

“Apprentice.” Pamela corrected him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

“If you’d prefer, sure. Anyway, I’ve decided on you.” He put his feet up on his desk contently. “Although I doubt that’s much of a shock.”

“No, sir,” She grinned sheepishly. “It’s still a…well…I’m honored.

“Good.” He said, gently rocking back and forth in his chair. “Of course it will mean extra time spent with me here at the lab. Late nights, early mornings…”

Pam was still smiling. “Whatever it takes.”

/

The sunlight jabbed Poison Ivy in the eye like a dull knife. It had been two weeks since she’d collected her vitamin D directly from the sun rather than a supplement and although initially disorienting, she could already feel the nourishment soaking into her skin. She glanced down at her hands which had turned back to their usual healthy shade of green. Cooped up in a cell for two weeks, Ivy had begun to look human.

Dr. Quinzel was off to Ivy’s right, leaning against the weathered building. With the wind whipping about and her hair up in that ponytail Ivy decided Haleen could pass for a sports model, the ones who were posed hiking outdoors with their Labrador retriever even though their bodies were clearly built in the gym.

“Your skin!” Dr. Quinzel yelled over the weather.

“Photosynthesis!” Ivy yelled back, walking towards her.

“Well you look beautiful.” Harleen told her once they’d reached a safe distance for the normal volume of a conversation.

“I know.” Ivy deadpanned with all the self-assuredness a woman could possess.

Harleen shoved her hands in her pockets. Deluded as it was, Ivy’s confidence could be intimidating, and anyway, it wasn’t like Harley’s compliment had been a lie. “Did Jason Woodrue think you were beautiful?”

Ivy crossed her arms, pulling them tightly to her chest. “I’m past the point of caring what that meatsack thought. He’s dead.” She laughed with a hollow satisfaction. “Decapitated. Twice now.”

Dr. Quinzel cleared her throat. “Did you…?”

Ivy sighed. “Unfortunately, no. The Bat did that, well the second time at least.”

“I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for how he was able to come back…” Harleen tightened her ponytail which was rebelling into just a loose mess of blonde hair.

Ivy’s striking features were softened by a tepid smile. “There is an explanation for most things in this world, Harleen.” She knelt down and pressed her hand into the grass. “But there are other, more fantastic phenomena…” a white lily grew up between her green fingers, “that exceeds even the wildest imagination.” She picked the flower and held it out to the young doctor.

Dr. Quinzel took it from her, nose red from the cold and cheeks rosy from the gift. “Why did you want to be a botanist?”

“It was the only thing my mother let me share with her. She grew roses. Beautiful roses, but she restricted them. Trimmed them too finely, never allowing them to come into their own.” Ivy told her, looking past the doctor out beyond the gate. “She treated me just the same, like one of her roses.”

“So you’ve always been a flower.” Harleen’s words dripped with pity. Ivy didn’t answer, so she continued. “Is that how Professor Woodrue saw you?”

“Professor Woodrue lied to me.” Ivy spat, her frustrated tone contradictory to her relaxed stance.

“He complemented your acumen.” Dr. Quinzel said, hoping that Ivy’s inevitable outburst wouldn’t be too severe. “He respected your intelligence.”

“No.” Ivy said. “He saw a shy girl, insecure in nearly every respect, and pounced. He locked me up and treated me like a human lab rat. Caged me like an animal, injecting me with any toxin that suited his fancy. He wasn’t even taking notes at the end, he was just shooting stuff into my bloodstream for the fun of it, to see how long I’d hold out. He tortured me and took a lot of pleasure in doing it.”

Harleen felt a bit queasy. With what this woman had endured, it’s no wonder she’d ended up in Arkham. That experience could have driven anyone mad. “Why do you think he did it?”

The frustration was now evident in every aspect of Ivy’s affect. Green eyes blazing, she whipped around to look the doctor straight in the face. “Because he was a man and men break things just because they can.”

“But those toxins he injected you with didn’t kill you, they made you Poison Ivy.”

“Yes.” Ivy laughed mirthlessly. “It appears everything but my humanity survived.”

“Pamela.” Harleen said, taking Ivy’s hand in hers. “Why are you still giving him your power?”

“I’m not!” Ivy shouted, yanking her hand away. “I am mother nature’s chosen protector! I am the most powerful villain in Gotham City!”

Harleen allowed her eyes to grow wide, trying to look like the innocent child she knew she could. “Wanting to save the environment doesn’t sound like the plot of a villain, Pamela. It sounds like a hero.”

Ivy was trembling with rage. “I am only a villain to weak minded humans who soil what the Earth has so graciously afforded them in the name of personal wealth.”

“But Pamela,” Harleen said, far too bravely for the circumstances. “Don’t you see? You’re villainizing your cause by association...”

“My name is Poison Ivy!” Expression filled with uncontrollable fury, Ivy turned her palms to the sky imploring the blackberry bushes in the corner of the yard to rear their heads like spiny serpents. But just as they began slithering towards the doctor, Ivy let out a yelp and fell to the ground, a batarang clattering off of her skull.


	9. 9

Harley sat quietly in a chair near the bed, watching Poison Ivy’s chest slowly rise and fall. She was mesmerized by the serenity of her emerald features. The gauze that was wrapped around her head had tamed her clearly rather unruly red hair. The Arkham Asylum infirmary staff had diagnosed her with a concussion and stitched up the laceration left on the back of her head by the batarang.

“You don’t actually need those, do you?” Ivy asked rhetorically, her eyes still closed.

Harley sat upright, alarmed at the sudden disturbance and a bit embarrassed for how intently she’d been staring.

“Your glasses.” Ivy clarified when she didn’t respond. “They’re not prescription, are they?”

Harley looked down at the round glasses she had been absent mindedly twirling in her fingers. “No.” She admitted. “They’re not prescription.”

Ivy smiled, opening one eye and then the other. “The accent, the glasses…You’re an imposter, Harley.”

Harley quickly unfolded the glasses and pushed them back onto her face. “It’s Harleen.”

“No,” Ivy chuckled, “Harleen is who your parents hoped you would be. But you’re Harley. The girl next-door, the guy’s gal, the cool chick, the female jock. You always have your hair pulled back and would wear a sports bra every day if you could. You like cold pizza and action movies and would rather sit and watch the game than help your mom in the kitchen.”

Harley was blushing a deep shade of crimson and intently examining her shoes.

“You may have fooled them, Harley Quinzel, but I see you. It took me a second to figure you out, longer than it usually does, but I know what you want.”

“Oh?” Harley asked, pretending to be unamused. “And what’s that?”

A wicked grin spread over Ivy’s lips. “You want someone to take charge. You want to be dominated.”

“Alright, Pamela.” She emphasized the name. “I think that’s enough.”

Ivy leaned her head back into the pillow. “There’s no shame in it, Harley, really. Everybody wants something.”

“I think that batarang may have knocked a few screws loose.” Harley crossed her arms.

“Your body language is communicating that you’ve closed yourself off.” Ivy said. It had taken four days and some collateral head trauma, but she finally had Dr. Quinzel on her toes. “See? Anyone can be a psychologist; they just have to watch.”

“I’m a PSYCHIATRIST, and if you think diagnosing me as some cheesy Hollywood archetype and then making a rather broad guess at my sexual preferences is therapy then it’s no wonder you haven’t ever made any progress here.” Harley huffed.

“But was I right?” Ivy asked, that feral smile still stretching her lips. “Your muscular definition is rather impressive, including the muscles in your neck which means whatever sport you played, you either expected contact or it was important that your head be able to stay in line with your body. Usually with tennis players the racket arm is slightly bigger than the other, but yours seem to be symmetrical, so I don’t think you played Tennis.”

Harley shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn’t sure why she was allowing Ivy’s eyes to prowl over her so aggressively, but for whatever reason she was powerless to stop her.

“It’s not softball, that would be too on the nose and your legs tell me you’ve spent more time jumping than a softball player would. You’re too dense to be a basketball player and your lats are too wide for soccer…”

Harley was incredulous. “Why do you know so much about this stuff?”

“I work best outside. That’s where I did my schoolwork and there was always some sort of athletic rehearsal going on.” Ivy replied quickly.  
Harley rolled her eyes. “It’s ‘practice’, not ‘rehearsal’. Now can we wrap this up, Dr. Isley? You’re wasting both of our time.”

“Somewhere along the line you decided that I needed a friend. You realized that I respond negatively to authority figures and so you took a more relaxed approach. I respect you for that, no one else has ever been brave enough to regard me as anything other than a ruthless psychopath, so I applaud you for attempting to fish out my humanity. The problem is, me spilling my guts to you without anything in return does not a friendship make. I’ve decided I should learn some things about you- for friendship’s sake.”  
Ivy watched as Harley swallowed. She had beat her at her own game and Harley knew it.

“Naturally my next guess would be Track and Field, but you’re a bit top heavy which contradicts the leg power required for those events. Taking all the variables into account, the only two conclusions I can draw is that you were either at least a four sport athlete, or you were a gymnast, and because you maintained your grades well enough to attend college and then medical school, I’m going to assume it’s the latter. You, Harley Quinzel, were a rather accomplished gymnast, weren’t you?”

Harley scoffed. “That’s not psychology. That’s just understanding body composition.”

“You’re right, Daffodil. And I will take that as a confirmation. Each sport requires a different mental approach as well as a physical one. Gymnastics is an extremely intense, all-encompassing hobby. At the higher levels it’s really more a job than a recreational activity. You are used to extremely demanding authority figures. You’ve been conditioned that way. That is what you want. So I’ve compounded my previous assumption by looking at past behavior patterns. That’s psychology, right?”

“Is this punishment for my explanation of an eco-system?” Harley asked.

“Partially.” Ivy chuckled somewhat good-naturedly. “And for bringing Batsy to my therapy session.”

Harley uncrossed her arms, stepping further back into her part of the doctor/patient dynamic. “I’m sorry if you feel like I betrayed you.”

“Well it’s clear you can’t trust me, Doctor.” Ivy leaned forward and gently pulled the glasses off of Harley’s face, placing them on her lap. “I know you’re smart, Harley. You don’t need the prop.”

Harley smiled despite herself. “OK.” Her voice came out hoarser than she’d intended.

“The doctor’s said they were on strict orders not to restrain me. Were they listening to you?” Ivy asked.

Harley nodded. “I thought having you restrained in an enclosed space might be triggering. Plus, there aren’t any plants in here, so I figured the risk/reward chances were in my favor.”

“It only takes one kiss for me to gain complete control over a person, Harley, and my body is essentially a toxic waste dump so poisonous that extended time with me in an enclosed space can and has killed people. I don’t need my plants to be dangerous. The risk is always greater than the reward.”

How Ivy could make comparing her body to a toxic waste dump sexy, Harley had no idea. “Well I thought the head injury might have slowed you down.”

“Were you a collegiate gymnast?” Ivy changed the subject.

Harley sighed and moved to the foot of Ivy’s hospital bed rather than the stiff folding chair she had occupied. “I was a scholarship collegiate gymnast, yes.”

“Mmm.” Ivy noted the encroachment,

“I was even invited to the Olympic Trials.” Harley’s proud smile was tainted with sadness.

“And?” Ivy raised an eyebrow.

“And…” Harley got up. “This isn’t my therapy session.”

“I believe that’s called ‘deflection’, Doctor.” Ivy said, jokingly batting her eyelashes.

Harley chuckled. “I think you should stick with plants and leave the therapy to me.”

Ivy shrugged. “I think we can both agree that I would make a far better psychiatrist than you would a botanist. Can we call that a breakthrough, Dr. Quinzel?”

Harley leaned in close to the older woman’s ear, her lips almost touching the emerald lobe. She held that position for a moment before whispering “no.”


	10. 10

Dr. Leland was waiting for Harley outside the infirmary. "I have to hand it to you, Dr. Quinzel, that could have gone a lot worse."

"I don't see how." Harley told her, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could just go home. "She saw right through me."

"And you were expecting to fool her?" Leland raised her eyebrows incredulously. "Honey, Dr. Pamela Isley in there has a higher IQ than me and you put together."

"And she won't hesitate to remind us, either." Harley balked.

"You're right." Dr. Leland chuckled. "She's the worst of them, Dr. Quinzel. I told you that on your first day. She and Joker, two peas in a pod if you ask me."

Harley swallowed back the bizarre bout of anger that was climbing up her throat. She suddenly felt the overwhelming need to defend her patient. "At least Ivy's mania is predictable. She has a cause and she fights for it. The Joker breaks things just because he can…" Harley trailed off, realizing that she was just regurgitating one of Ivy's earlier statements.

"Hmm…" Leland looked at her sideways. "You know, if you ever wanted to take a crack at Joker, I could let you have a few sessions with him. If you wanted some space from Isley."

"No." Harley shook her head. "I'm fine. I just need to adjust my approach."

"Well maybe you don't." Leland put her hands on her hips. "I read your notes. Narcissistic personality, a series of negative experiences with authority figures…her knowing your play might actually enhance your current strategy."

Harley nodded slowly. "…Because even in an actual friendship she'd want to know that she was superior in some way."

"Right." Leland said. "But even though she thinks she's better, Isley is just as obsessed with Batman as the other rogues are."

"Because she sees him as something nearing an intellectual equal. She's competitive." Harley was smiling now. "She wants a match-up that she can just barely win. She wants to be challenged, but not defeated."

"That would be my guess." Leland said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Quinzel."

Harley set her briefcase down on the dining room table with such irreverent force that water spilled out of her new green flower vase. Harley assumed the daffodils would have wilted by now, but to her surprise, they were as vibrant as the day they'd shown up in her office. Harley took a moment to appreciate the bright cluster of yellow. "My name is not Daffodil," she mumbled and grabbed a dishtowel from the counter, erasing the spill in one sweeping motion.

Her next stop was the kitchen where she pulled out the last two pieces of pizza she'd kept in the fridge. So Ivy was right about her liking it. Who cares? Everyone likes pizza. That doesn't prove anything. Harley carried her dinner back to the table where she set it down on the wood surface without a plate or napkin.

She cursed when her sweater got stuck on her earring as she was attempting to pull the red cashmere over her head. It was the most expensive piece of clothing she owned and now here it was, snagging on her cheap TJ MAXX faux diamonds.

Harley made her way to the bedroom and attempted to untangle the mess in front of her full-length mirror. Her abs flexed as the metal yanked on her ear lobe until she was finally able to separate the two.

She studied herself in the mirror for a moment. Her parents had raised her as an athlete, starting her in all sorts of lessons at a very young age. They weren't rich, but they certainly valued the concept of teamwork. Her parents hadn't expected Harley to gravitate towards gymnastics the way she did. The lessons were the most expensive of all her after school activities and Harley knew all the time and energy she'd dedicated to the sport had taken away from her life at home. She stood in front of the mirror looking at the body the sport had given her and remembering the day she'd dishonored it. With a sigh, she removed her bra and pulled on a baggy T-Shirt with the words "Gotham State" printed on the front along with her alma mater's insignia.

Harley shoved the first piece of pizza into her mouth greedily once she was back at the table. She had neglected lunch in favor of her extended visit to the infirmary and now wished she had a whole pizza instead of just the two pieces.

With a sigh she plopped down into the chair at the head of the table and pulled her briefcase towards her, sliding it over the stained cherry wood. "Pamela Lillian Isley," she said, releasing the latches on the leather case. "Pam-el-a." She opened the lid. "Pam-a-lam." Harley reached inside and grabbed the file. "Pama-lama-ding-dong." She skipped past the first few pages. "Pammie McPhee…" she raised her eyes and cocked her head. "Does that work?" 'no' she decided, focusing her attention back on the woman's file. "Hmm…District Attorney Harvey Dent…" she read. The name sounded familiar. "Wait. Harvey Dent, that's…umm…Two-Face. Ivy dated Two-Face?" She asked her empty apartment. "There's no way that wasn't a nasty break up." She read a little further. "Ha!" Harley laughed when she learned Ivy had tried to kill Harvey. "Told'ya so." She stopped when she heard her accent slipping. "I told you so." She repeated, focusing on crisp annunciation.

She got up from the table and began to pace, willing the wheels in her head to start turning. Harley did not like sitting still and moving always helped her think. "Wealthy, emotionally distant parents…nothing about abuse in there so it's more about neglect." She mumbled, her hands clasped behind her back. "Her mother treated her like a rose…so…appearance over substance…they didn't care about her accomplishments…" Harley stopped in her tracks like she'd been commanded to and planted her hands on the floor, kicking her legs up into a handstand. She took a few 'steps' forward with her hands, and then back, tightening her stomach muscles to keep her body straight. "She needed someone to notice her for something other than her looks…she needed validation." Harley's face began to get red from the blood rushing to her head. "She needed intellectual validation from an authority figure…" She again walked her hands in a tight circle. "Jason Woodrue…her professor…a leader in his field…" Harley returned her feet to the ground and righted herself, pulling her shirt down as she landed. She furrowed her brow. "He didn't seduce her. He flattered her! It's not about..." Harley's face broke out into a wide grin and she skipped back over to the table, grabbing a pen and writing her words as she spoke them. "Not about sex." She wrote the last word in capital letters. "About validation." She circled 'validation' and drew a dark line under it. "Trophy/sexual object= attention." Harley capped the pen triumphantly and pointed at Ivy's mugshot like she'd just fingered her in a lineup. "Get ready for your fucking breakthrough."


	11. 11

Ivy stole a glance at the clock hanging on the wall outside her cell. It was halfway through the lunch hour already and there was still no sign of Dr. Quinzel. Not that Ivy cared. She was used to being alone. She didn’t need to watch that adult toddler eat. Ivy remembered the way Harley had chomped on her apple, taking big, overzealous bites and still attempting to carry on a conversation. Upon further reflection, Ivy was relieved Dr. Quinzel would not be visiting her today. Her head still hurt from the unfortunate batarang incident and she didn’t need some silly little girl trying to psychoanalyze her when she should be resting.

With that thought, Ivy laid herself down on the bed, gently lowering her swollen head onto the stiff, standard issue pillow. She allowed her eyelids to flutter closed, taking deep relaxing breaths, imagining herself hidden away deep within the Amazon rainforest.

“Aww…No side piece today, Pammie?

Ivy sighed. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know the Joker had woken up from his nap. His cafeteria privileges had been revoked the day before for stabbing Two-Face’s good side with a fork. Since then he had apparently made it his mission to drive Ivy up the wall. “I’m not sure to what you’re referring.” She continued her calming breaths.

“Well if greenery is your main squeeze, then that would make that delicious looking doctor of yours your frustrated little mistress.”

Ivy pictured bashing his skull in with a rock. “Can I help you with something? A lobotomy, preferably?”

“Sharp of tongue you may be, my pretty.” Joker squealed. “But I’m afraid your magic mirror has betrayed you.”

 _In and out. Breathe in and out_. “I feel like you’re mixing up your references.”

“Ah you’re right.” The Joker conceded, feigning defeat. “Then again Riddler was always better at this sort of thing.”

“Being an irredeemable tool? No, I think you’ve got that description cornered.” Ivy was impressed with the control she was maintaining.

“Oh Pammie. Little miss principled and vain. Is it disappointing knowing you’re no longer the fairest of them all? Does it rile up that world famous tempter?”  
Ivy’s eyes shot open but she refused to look in his direction. “One of these days, Joker, it’s just going to be you and me, no tricks, no gimmicks...”

The Joker was already headed off on his own tangent. “That little educated piece of ass is such a tease. God I’d love to strap her to my rocket.”

Ivy finally turned to look at him. “Is that a euphemism?”

“Hm?” He had evidently been talking to himself. “No. I purchased a rocket some time ago and I’ve been waiting for the perfect person to crash it.”

Ivy parted her lips, unsure of how to proceed. “You’re like if God spilled a person.”

The Joker began his typical frightening, maniacal laughter and Ivy’s eyes slammed shut once more.

“Shut-up, Joker!” Clarence yelled, slamming his fist on the cell as he passed by. But Joker did not shut-uo, he continued to laugh obnoxiously until he had run out of breath.

“Let’s go, Isley.” Clarence said firmly.

“Go where?” Ivy’s tone was clipped.

“You’ve got a session with Dr. Quinzel.” He approached the glass. “She asked that I not restrain you.”

This knowledge started the Joker back up like Clarence had yanked on his pull cord. Tears were streaming down his discolored face as Ivy was lead out of the block. “Mirror mirror, on the wall.” He wheezed. “Who is the fairest bitch of all?”

“That’s it.” Ivy grumbled as she turned back.

“No, no no.” Clarence grabbed her arm and pointed her in the right direction.

Dr. Quinzel sat in her usual chair, her hair back up in a bun, one leg crossed over the other in a Columbia blue pencil skirt. She wore a black necktie this time over top of a short-sleeved white blouse and flashed Ivy a gaping grin when she entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Ivy.”

Ivy regarded the woman coldly. “Doctor.”

“Ooh, brrrr…” Harley shivered. “What did I do this time?” The familiarity with which she spoke unnerved Ivy. This was about the time when her doctors usually decided she was a lost cause and threw in the towel. “Is it because I missed our lunch date?” Harley asked, her expression genuinely apologetic.

“N-no. I just…I thought you would be done with me by now.” Ivy sat on the chair this time rather than lounged.

Harley chuckled. “No, silly. My session with another patient just ran a little long. You know, duty calls.”

Ivy felt a pang of jealousy. _Of course she has other patients, Pamela, Arkham is severely understaffed. They can’t afford to dedicate you your own personal doctor_.

“So I apologize for the cliché, but I’d like to start off with your childhood this time.” Harley was saying.

“Jumping right into it today, are we?” Ivy leaned back in the chair, propping her head up with her elbow. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, Harley.”

The doctor offered her patient a warm smile. “Were you a dull girl, Pamela?”

“Oh very much so.” Ivy began. “For one, despite my parents’ complete disinterest, I was seldom allowed outside of the house. To school and to the library only, really. I was not permitted to bring friends home nor was I allowed to sleep at someone else’s house.” She watched as Harley’s eyes grew wide behind her prop glasses. She had just told her everything she wanted to know without protest and it appeared to have put the doctor in a state of mild disbelief. “And you?” Ivy asked.

“There’s the catch.” Harley sighed.

“I thought I made my intentions clear yesterday. I will share things with you if you return the favor.”

Harley rolled her eyes. “Can you stop skirting around the reference and just say the line already?”

Now it was Ivy’s turn to look confused.

“Quit pro quo, Clarice.” Harley filled in the blank, a bit exasperated.

Ivy cocked her head. “I’m sorry?”

“Silence of The…wait. Have you never seen The Silence of The Lambs?”

Ivy crossed her arms. “Is that a movie?”

Harley was looking at her like a cat who had just been startled by a zucchini. “Yes of course it’s a movie!”

The redhead shrugged. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Pfft, OK.” Harley scoffed. “Let’s move on because that’s just absolutely ridiculous.” It took quite some time for her to wrap her head around this new development. “I sort of hate you right now, to be honest.”

Ivy sat up, unsure of whether to laugh or scream. “It is a well-documented fact that I have murdered people- that’s ‘people’, plural- and that seemed to be totally fine with you. Now I tell you I haven’t seen some movie and suddenly I’m the antichrist?”

“It’s not just ‘some movie’.” Shaking her head disappointedly, Harley moved on. “To answer your question, I spent most my time outside with the neighborhood kids until I got serious about gymnastics. Then I would have a morning practice before school and one afterwards too.”

“How was that for your social life?” Ivy asked.

“Not great. OK, your turn. Why do you think it was so important to your parents that you be reclusive?” Harley readied her pen.

Ivy tapped her index finger on her temple, thinking. “Well I was an only child born to older parents, so perhaps they thought they needed to protect me from the world.”  
Harley nodded as she wrote.

“They also had a general air of superiority about them.” Ivy continued. “They didn’t want me to be corrupted by an inferior people.”

Harley laid her pen to rest. “Did your parents support your career?”

“Ah ah ah, that’s two questions in a row.” Ivy wagged a finger. “What happened with the Olympic trials?”

Harley’s expression glazed over. “I don’t mind playing this game with you, Ivy, but there are some topics that need to be off limits. That is one of them.”

Now Ivy was more interested than ever. But she acquiesced, honoring the request for the time being. “Why did you want to be a psychiatrist?” she asked instead.

“I wanted to help people.” Harley answered simply.

“That’s an awfully generic response.” Ivy was twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“I want to help save the world.” Harley mocked, purposefully lowering her voice in an attempted imitation of Ivy’s resume tape. “And you have arguably the best facilities in the country.”

If Ivy was upset, she didn’t let it show. Harley had noted a slight improvement in her anger management abilities since the batarang incident. For the control she was exhibiting, Harley figured she should reward her with the truth. “My father is a convicted felon. I wanted to better understand him so I went into criminal psychiatry.” She explained with little reverence.

“Interesting…” Ivy said, stopping her repetitive motion.

“Did your parents support your career?” Harley recycled the question from earlier.

“No.” Ivy told her plainly. “Not in the least. My parents were old-fashioned. They thought I should attend college just long enough to meet an ambitious young man to settle down with. He would support me, and I would raise our children just as my mother had.”

“They weren’t proud that their daughter was a doctor?”

“No.” Ivy repeated. “They did not like that I spent all of my time studying or working rather than dating. They didn’t like that I put my ambition before my appearance.” Her eyes began to glow a brighter shade of green and Harley buckled in for an angry rant. “And it wasn’t just them either. You should have seen the way the other girls looked at me…I was a pariah for wanting something more in life than a husband.”

A curious thought crossed Harley’s mind. “Ivy, how old are you?”

The woman’s red hair bellowed with the momentum as she whipped her head around. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” She snapped.

“Well I acknowledge my upbringing was completely different.” Harley began, cautiously. “But in my 26 years on this planet I have never once been chastised for my ambition. You don’t look more than 30 years old to me, but you never know with you meta-humans and I wonder if the reason our experiences were so different is that you grew up during a less advanced time for women’s rights.”

Ivy was tapping the soft pads of her fingers on the leather chair, evidently weighing her options. “I will answer your question if you tell me what happened with the Olympic Trials.”

Now it was Harley’s turn to weigh her options. She had been attempting to approach Ivy’s therapy as a peer, but if Ivy’s age was more advanced than she’d accounted for, the generational gap could be effecting their connection.

Ivy waited patiently as Harley cleared her throat and held up her side of the deal. “There was a girl, a teammate of mine, who I was very competitive with. There was nothing in this world that I wanted more than a spot on the Olympic team, so I took steps to ensure I would get the trials nomination over my teammate. I…” Harley looked supremely uncomfortable. “I had an affair with my head coach. I was 16 and he was married…”

“And your teammate found out and reported you.” Ivy guessed at the end of her story.

Harley nodded, looking mortified. “The affair wasn’t my idea. He…he said he could put a good word in.”

A moment of silence passed between them as Poison Ivy watched. She could see tears behind the young doctor’s eyes and actually had to fight the urge to leap across the divide and gather Harley up in her arms. “I earned my PhD in 1966.” She offered, hoping that revelation would take some of the hurt out of Harley’s eyes.  
Harley raised her eyes as it was now Ivy shifting under the scrutiny.

“You dared to be different.” Harley was looking at the gorgeous woman in front of her with new found respect, a sort of awe in her expression.

“Yeah.” Ivy scoffed. “Look where that got me.”

“Your whole seduction routine is just—“

“Giving the people what they want.” Ivy finished Harley’s sentence. “Because no one wanted me before. Congratulations.” She nearly sneered. “You cracked the fucking case.”


	12. 12

Pamela could feel Professor Woodrue's hot breath on the back of her neck. She didn't like the way the heat crept along her skin, sticking to the downy hair, flattening it against her.

It was nearing 2am now, the lab had emptied out hours ago, save Pamela and Professor Woodrue, of course. Alec had seemed a bit hesitant to leave her alone, but he (of course) had Linda to get home to. Pamela understood, and anyway, the professor had made it abundantly clear that it was time for he and Damien to clear out.

'He gave me the apprenticeship. This is what I wanted.' Pamela reminded herself as she examined a spore beneath her microscope. He was moving in closer now, she could feel the tip of his nose brushing softly against her earlobe. Pam felt sick to her stomach. She moved forward slightly, her eye now touching the lens of the microscope, hoping Woodrue would take the hint. He didn't. Instead, he took it as an invitation to move closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling his sharp features into her neck.

"Professor…" She whispered, her voice sounding nothing at all like the rich alto she was used to. "I think maybe I should go."

"Nonsense, Pamela." He said, pulling her closer. "There's still work to be done."

"With all due respect, Sir," She was attempting to wiggle free. "I believe I'm done for the night." She was finally successful in removing his arms from her waist, but when she turned around in search of the door, he was right there with her. Mirroring her movements. Blocking her exit.

"You're so beautiful…" He mused, stroking her cheek with his bony thumb.

"Thank you." She accepted the compliment hastily. "But I really should be going. It's getting very late."

"But that's not why I like you," Woodrue ignored her, placing his other hand firmly below her jaw. "It's your mind, Pamela." He answered a question she had not asked. "You're inquisitive and attentive. That's your greatest asset."  
Pamela was powerless against the heat that spread beneath her skin and the sheepish grin that took up residence in the corners of her mouth. "You think so?"

He grinned back at her, but with a visibly different intention. "I wouldn't lie to you, Pam."

/

Harley stood in the yard behind the asylum wearing the athletic clothes she'd packed for the gym later- spandex shorts and a bright red sports bra. "This is stupid." She said under her breath. "Seriously, Harley. This is dumb."

'Nuh-uh.' The little voice in her head replied. 'Ya got this, Harleen. Jus' look at'cha, Girlie. Still look 16 if ya ask'in me.'

Harley glanced over her shoulder, making sure she was truly alone. "Well…" she said with a nervous smile. "Here goes nothing." And with that she took off running across the grass, her bare toes digging into the dirt for traction. Once she'd reached the correct speed, she high-stepped then planted her right palm into the ground and used her momentum to flip her legs over in the air. She combined the cartwheel with back-handspring and finished the run off by pushing hard with her legs and tucking her knees to her chest. Head over heels she rotated in the air, landing the back-flip with a satisfying 'thud.' She instinctively straightened out her legs after she stuck the landing, raising her arms above her head and arching her lower back- presenting the successful skill to the imaginary judges. Wearing her brightest camera smile, she bowed to the fence and then to the building.

"See, Harleen? What'd I tell ya?" The voice asked. She smiled to herself and walked back to her starting position, then began another run at the routine, this time repeating the sequence twice before sticking the landing.

She panted, a shit-eating grin on her face, her tongue hanging out of her mouth like a dog as she sat down in the grass.

"Ya just get too wrapped up in'ya own head sometimes, Girlie." The voice scolded.

Harley stretched contentedly and spread out on the grass, watching the sun as it set the sky ablaze in brilliant shades of orange.

The Dark Knight watched the young doctor from his perch atop the asylum. She was sprawled out in the lush green grass, enjoying the unusually vivid sunset. Despite Poison Ivy's general toxicity, the greenery surrounding Arkham always seemed to improve while she was in lock-up. As the sun began to slip behind the Gotham City skyline, Dr. Harleen Quinzel roused herself by pushing up into a handstand and then kicking her feet over her head until she was confidently carrying herself away across the lawn.

"Hmm…" Batman thoughtfully regarded the enigma that was this woman.

/

Ivy sat in her cell watching as the other patients were ushered into the cafeteria. She drew her legs tight to her chest and wobbled into a lying position much like an egg would. An egg with consciousness, of course. Humpty-Dumpty, specifically. The Joker had somehow found a way out of his straight-jacket long enough to punch a guard in the teeth and had been moved to the maximum security block, meaning Ivy was now truly alone. 'Good riddance. That crude clown can rot down there.' She thought. No company was better than The Joker's company. No company used to be better than any company, in Ivy's opinion. But something was changing- shifting inside of her. She wasn't sure exactly what it was and she certainly wasn't sure if she liked it, but it would have been irresponsible not to at least recognize the disturbance. She stared for a long while at the fern across the room. It wasn't growing at the rate she'd expected it would. That measly little fern was supposed to be her escape plan, but it simply wasn't strong enough. Ivy didn't even have to look at it to know. She could just feel it

"Hey!"

The redhead sat bolt upright as Harley suddenly thrust herself into view. Harley smacked a plastic rectangle against the glass and Ivy quirked an eyebrow at the foreign object.

"What's that?" She asked, momentarily excusing the sensual whisper from her tone.

Harley grinned. "Movie night."


	13. 13

"Listen, Dr. Quinzel…" Poison Ivy was trying her best to keep at the woman's heels, but it was proving difficult what with the doctor's quick strides and the restraints fastened around Ivy's ankles. "You're new here, so it's possible you're unaware of the fact that I have been permanently uninvited from movie night."

Harley finally stopped in front of the door to the makeshift theater, Ivy felt like she'd just run the 800 meter.

"Oh no, I'm perfectly aware of that fact." Harley inserted the key into the door and turned the handle. "We had to look at that incident for our expense report. Projectors are not cheap, Dr. Isley."

"Exactly, so…" The door swung open to reveal an empty theater.

"So…this is a private screening." The blonde grinned, holding the door open for her patient.

Ivy was apprehensive as she stepped inside. "Why?"

The shut the door behind them. Ivy hadn't noticed Harley wasn't wearing her lab coat when she'd retrieved her from her cell, but without the coat the doctor just looked like a well-dressed co-ed. Harley leaned down and unfastened the restraints.

"OK, so hear me out." Harley started. "No judgment, alright. I'm taking my doctor gloves off right now. Just one educated woman talking to another educated woman. Look," Harley loosened her necktie until it hung casually off her collar. "This is totally informal."

Ivy furrowed her brow, unsure of where this was headed.

"I think that a lot of your…problems," Harley began, "Come from the way you're treated, or, you know…the way you have been treated."

Harley started into the projector room before Ivy could respond, and came out with a pile of neatly folded clothes. "Here," the blonde said, "I guessed your size."

Ivy regarded each piece of clothing she had provided- lightly washed blue jeans and a casual V-neck T-Shirt.

"Green, naturally." Harley grinned as Ivy examined the shirt. "It will match your eyes. Do you know what color your eyes are?"

Ivy assumed that was a trick question because the alternative was that Dr. Quinzel was exceedingly stupid. "They're green."

"Well, duh." Harley giggled. "I mean the shade. It's called harlequin green. And I just think that's kinda funny," (Ivy noted the slip in her accent). "Because my dad used to call me his little harlequin when I was a kid."

Ivy understood. "Harleen Quinzel, Harley Quinn."

"Ha. Right! I've just never met anyone with eyes like yours. Not that you need a bigger head at this point, but they're very pretty."

"I know." Ivy took the clothes into the projector room to change, utterly confused by the informality of this therapeutic approach. She discarded her Arkham uniform as quickly as she could, substituting it for the clothes Harley had provided. The jeans proved somewhat difficult to pull on, the fit didn't exactly accommodate for Ivy's…well…ass.

"So here's my thinking." Harley began speaking as soon as Ivy was back. "The more people villainize you, the more in touch you get with your plant side. So to get you linked back in with your human "roots", if you will- sorry for the pun- I thought you might like to be treated like a normal person. Even just for one night."

"But I'm not a normal person." Ivy wasn't quite seeing the logic.

"But you are. Somewhere in there, not far below the surface." Harley's eyes were kind. "Your skin takes away any hope of anonymity, not saying you'd want anonymity, but it must be exhausting to have to be Poison Ivy all the time. Most other meta-humans I've seen can hide if they want to. They can take a break from everything every once and a while and just simply exist."

That same strange feeling- the "disturbance"- had now taken up residence in the pit of Ivy's stomach. "But I have a higher calling! I am Mo—"

"Mother Nature's Chosen Protector." Harley finished. "I know. But guess what? Batman is Gotham's chosen protector- the human population at least- and he gets to take a night off if he wants."

The feeling was becoming more familiar. It was anger like poison thrashing around in Ivy's throat. "Batman is nothing more than an XY chromosome with some fancy gadgets. I am the all-powerful embodiment of the life force of this earth!"

"Ivy." Harley said in a calming tone. "You were just a woman once. A smart woman, I'll give you that. But in your essence just a woman who wanted to save the environment. I know you say you didn't want a husband, and maybe that's true or maybe, you know, opinions would have changed. Maybe you would have wanted a family or another PhD or whatever. An evil man ripped that away from you, took any chance of a normal future just like that." Harley snapped her fingers to illustrate her point. "And you got mad. That makes sense. You got really, really mad and you took it out on what you thought that man represented- mankind. But listen, Poison Ivy, Pamela Lillian Isley…here I am, a human being just like he was a human being, asking if you'd like to watch a movie with me. Because I think we could have been friends, Pam. And you look awesome in those jeans."

Ivy opened her mouth to say something, to let the venom flow…but nothing came out. There was nothing to say. This was an earnest and heartfelt kindness extended to her by her therapist. It felt odd, alarming even. Not altogether uncomfortable, but still "significant" in some way. And so Ivy simply offered a somewhat weak sounding "OK" and went to sit down.

"OK." Harley beamed and set up the projector, joining Ivy in the audience soon after.


	14. 14

Harley looked over excitedly to gauge Ivy's reaction as the opening credits of The Silence of The Lambs began to roll.

Ivy pulled her eyes away from the screen. "Yes?"

"This is an iconic opening sequence." Harley simpered, boring holes into Ivy's emerald features.

"Jodie Foster breathlessly running through the woods?" Ivy was unconvinced.

"Yep!" Harley shimmied happily and turned back to face the screen. "I always wanted to try that obstacle course."

"Mmm." Ivy acknowledged, trying to watch and hoping that this wasn't how the entire film was going to go.

"I always thought Jack Crawford was kinda yummy." Harley offered sometime later. She glanced over at Ivy who evidently vehemently disagreed. "Did you ever get made fun of as a kid?"

"I thought I was your friend right now, not your patient." Ivy was getting a little frustrated at the constant interruptions.

"Pfft." Harley chuckled. "Have you ever had a friend before? That's the kind of stuff they talk about."

Ivy sighed. "No, not—"

"Oooh, ooh, ooh, this is a good scene!" Harley interrupted and pointed to the screen. Ivy couldn't help but smile, both at how ridiculous this woman was being and how right she had been about her temperament. Ivy sighed again and watched as Hannibal Lecter was introduced.

"His eyes…" Harley whispered. "They just…get into your soul, you know?"

"They look like yours." Ivy replied nonchalantly. If she had looked over, she would have noticed that Dr. Quinzel was blushing.

"No I wasn't made fun of as a kid. Why?"

"Huh?" Harley mumbled as Clarice was trapped inside the storage unit. "Oh, umm…it's just your hair."

Ivy suddenly felt a bit self-conscious, something she hadn't felt in a very long time. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing! It's beautiful." Harley placed her words strategically around the swells in the film's score. "We had a red-head in our neighborhood growing up, the boys used to call him Ginger." She stopped to gasp at the head in the jar.

Ivy chuckled. "I thought you said you'd seen this movie before."

"Oh, I have, dozens of times. Anyway, you're not really a 'Ginger'. You're more of a 'Red'." She offered Ivy a piece of gum. This time, Ivy took it.

Ivy didn't watch much of the movie after that, electing to instead watch Harley's reactions to it. The woman was comically animated, her eyes wide with child-like amusement at everything she saw. She was clearly ambitious; Ivy had seen that during their sessions. She wanted to be the best athlete, psychiatrist, and person she could, but there was also something in there that Ivy hadn't considered before- genuine curiosity. It also crossed Ivy's mind that with what had happened with her gymnastics career, Harley wanted to prove to herself that there was something in this world that she was legitimately good at because she had clearly lacked the self-esteem to get to Olympic trials on her own. Ivy thought about her flowers and how sometimes water and sunlight wasn't enough to make them grow. Sometimes they required coaxing. She made it a point to walk through her greenhouse every morning, whispering to her babies, giving them the confidence they needed to blossom.

Hesitantly, Ivy leaned into Harley's ear, careful to make sure their skin didn't touch, and whispered "You didn't need him. You could have made it on your own" as sweetly as she could muster. She watched as Harley's jaw twitched, but didn't respond. Ivy smiled to herself and turned back to face the screen. She had planted a seed in the young woman that, with the right coaching, could someday convince Dr. Quinzel to believe in herself as much as she did her patients.

"Having a friend for dinner." Harley repeated the last line of the film as the credits began to roll. "Get it? Of course you get it. You're a genius."

"I am a genius." Ivy confirmed, a benevolent smirk still plastered onto her face.

"Well?" Harley smiled nervously. "What'd you think?"

"Well…" Ivy started, adjusting her hips so she was facing Harley straight on. "I don't think you could have chosen a worse movie to show to your criminally insane patient."

"You're not insane, Pam." Harley propped her elbow on the armrest between them. "You're just misunderstood."

Ivy laughed. "I think it might be a little of both, if I'm being honest."

"Well honesty is the key to any good friendship. Honesty and trust. But those things are even more important when you're by yourself." Harley's voice sounded lower than usual.

"OK, well, I'm telling you 'honestly' that watching The Silence of The Lambs with your patient is a pretty blatant no no. I mean, calling a cannibal an anti-hero hardly sets a good example for a sick mind like mine." Ivy's tone was good natured and Harley smirked in response.

"What do you think the moral was?" The blonde asked, distractedly drawing circles with her finger on the arm rest.

"'The lesser of two evils' or 'it's OK to do the right thing the wrong way sometimes.' You can take your pick."

"Mmm…" Harley squinted like she was deep in thought, all the while moving the circular motion of her finger slowly off the arm rest and onto Ivy's leg.

The older woman prickled at the contact and was almost afraid to ask. "What do you think the moral was?"

Harley parted her lips and inched forward. "I think…it's saying…even the worst bad guy can be good…for that one special person..."

Ivy cursed herself as Harley continued to advance. She had grossly misjudged how closely this woman's confidence was tied to her sexuality. Idiot, Pamela. Idiot! "No." She whispered with their lips only a half a breath apart. "We…I...can't."

Harley pulled away quickly, a look of deep shame etched into her immature features. "Oh my god, I'm such an idiot."

Pamela was feeling steadily worse. This was the outcome she had wanted when they met. Ivy was going to manipulate Dr. Quinzel just like she would any other mark. But now, looking into those cerulean blue eyes, she did not want to break this woman. She wanted to help cultivate her. "Don't say that. You're not an idiot." Ivy's voice was catching.

"No," Harley cackled, suddenly baring a passing resemblance to The Joker in Ivy's mind. "I am. You're just a tease. That's your schtick, right?"

"No, Dr. Quinzel, please." There was something uncharacteristically desperate in Ivy's tone. "It's not like that this time. It's…" her usually extensive vocabulary was abandoning her. "I can't. I mean, physically. I'm poisonous. And more than that…"

"Go ahead." Harley was on her feet at this point, hands on hips, foot tapping impatiently.

"If I corrupt you, how am I any better than my professor or your coach?" Ivy was on her feet as well, wishing with every fiber of her being that her jeans weren't so tight.

"'Corrupt' me?" Harley scoffed. "Of course you would think that's what's happening because you're the most powerful force on the planet, right? Pamela, can you imagine a world that doesn't revolve around you? Where someone, someone like me, could make their own choices?"

"Harleen, stop." Ivy's tone had turned stern. "I told you that you wanted to be dominated. That's all this is. I'm powerful, angry and could- and WOULD- take advantage of you. You are attracted to the idea of me, that's it!"

"I am the therapist here, Pamela. Stop trying to diagnose me. You're not doing this for me, you're doing it for you. You can't stand the idea of fucking up my career path. Of making another little Pamela turn into an Ivy. Is that what you think will happen? Pam I'm gonna drop this nugget a' wisdom on ya free of charge: you were already fucked up before ya met Woodrue, that's why ya chose him in the first place."

The anger started to bubble up in Ivy's stomach again. She would need to find a way to alleviate this suddenly volatile situation before her temper flared to something she wouldn't be able to control. It only took her a moment to make her decision. "This isn't your choice, Dr. Quinzel. None of it is. I—I used my pheromones on you. It's chemical. I was trying to trick you so you would help me escape. This isn't you. It's me."

Harley's face began to drain of color. "I thought the pheromones didn't work on women."

"I lied." Ivy watched the woman straighten herself up. The change in her tone- from excited to romantic to furious- had been so sudden that Ivy hardly had the time to process it before it was over and the monster had returned to its den.

"Thank you." Harley said, in a truly bizarre response to the situation as she tightened the knot on her tie. "For not taking advantage of me."


	15. 15

Harley stood over her bathroom sink, hands placed firmly on the porcelain sides for support. Harley’s hair, which had started as a bun placed high atop her head had gradually sunk throughout the day as a result of her various physical activities. The knot itself appeared to droop as if it had a depression all its own. The bangs flopped lazily of out of the tie, not exactly rebelling, more just "existing." Harley didn’t want to look in the mirror. She knew the obvious pain and desperation in her eyes would hurt to fully realize. So she stared down the drain, hoping something detestable would crawl out and swallow her whole.

Harley had gone into the evening “session” with a plan. She was going to prove Poison Ivy was capable of empathy and she was going to do it by taking a play out of the villainess’ own book. Harley planned to seduce her patient in the hopes that Ivy would be able to make a connection between Harley and Ivy’s former self, thereby ending the cycle of abuse that Ivy had been living since the day she left Pamela behind. But she had underestimated Ivy’s cunning. The vixen had been two steps ahead of Harley throughout this entire process, and so during what should have been Harley’s moment of definitive victory…all she could think was how much she wished Ivy would actually kiss her.

“What’d ya think, Harl? You could actually trick Poison Ivy inta bein’ better?”

“Shh…” Harley said, gently rocking back and forth, her eyes shut tightly.

The voice laughed. “Ah, she got’cha good, Harl. She dosed ya up with that sex pollen stuff so alls ya could think about was fuckin’ her.”

“Shh…” She was louder now and moving with more force.

“Dr. Quinzel?”

Harley felt like she was under water and the voice was coming from somewhere on deck.

“Dr. Quinzel?!”

Harley’s eyes snapped open. There were hands on her back, stopping her momentum.

“Harleen, are you OK?” Dr. Leland asked.

The younger doctor blinked, grabbing the life ring she’d been handed. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry.”

Leland held her shoulders and took a thorough look at Harley, clearly concerned. “I take it your slightly unethical scheme didn’t quite go as planned?”

“No. I got all I needed from her.” Harley’s face then split into a wide grin and she pat Dr. Leland on the shoulder. “She’s not irredeemable, Joan. In fact, I think she’s on the right track.”

Joan arched an eyebrow at both the assertion and the rapid change in affect. “Really?”

“Really.” Harley nodded. “But I will take you up on those Joker sessions. Just two or three. Give Ivy the chance to stew a little. Maybe she’ll be ready to commit to her recovery when I get back.”

/

Ivy was pacing furiously back and forth in her cell. She felt sick to her stomach. Guilty, even. Her actions had consequences, Ivy knew that. But for the majority of her infamous career, she hadn’t been interested in what they were or who they effected because she wasn’t human, so what did it matter? Those fleshy meatsacks could all drop dead at once and she wouldn’t care. In fact, she might have celebrated. And then there was this girl, this sweet, legitimately well-meaning girl who was just trying to do a good job. Just like Pamela had been trying to do a good job with her apprenticeship. And Ivy had broken the girl like she would a common man, or like a common man once did her. Ivy convinced herself it wasn’t about this girl in particular. It was the sentiment of the thing. This girl represented centuries worth of female oppression and here Ivy was, suddenly filling the role of the typical male aggressor. She did this sort of thing all the time to men- manipulated their emotions and physical desires, bending them to her will, but men deserved that treatment for the grief they’d caused. This girl’s only offense was being good at her job and believing that she, Poison Ivy, was somehow redeemable.

What a useless emotion, guilt. It was a reactionary response to a circumstance now out of one’s control. So inefficient. So…human. And anyway, Ivy had already fallen on her sword. Her sentence would be extended another lifetime and her danger classification would be increased. Now, of course, Ivy didn’t actually have a pheromone powerful enough to control women yet, but they didn’t know that. Dr. Quinzel would go running to Dr. Leland and Leland would go running to the judge. They would take her plants away and her occasional yard privileges as well until the great and powerful Poison Ivy was reduced to a dehydrated husk of her former self. And for what? For some stupid girl? No. For the bigger picture. Because Ivy was a hybrid- plant and woman. And though she firmly believed plants had more of a right to this Earth than humans did, it was not all humans that she took issue with. Pamela had been a woman once too. And Harley was right, she had given Jason Woodrue her power, or more accurately, she had allowed him to continue to rob her of it for years after the fact. What happened to her was more a crime against women than it was plants and yet the only use of her femininity since then had been for nefarious cause.

So maybe Dr. Quinzel would always hate her for what she did, or at least for what she said she did. But there was also a chance that Harleen would understand someday. Understand why Ivy had rejected her. Understand why Ivy had to choose for her in that moment.  
Ivy finally stopped pacing and looked at her reflection in the glass. For a moment, the face that was looking back at her was Pamela’s. Pamela as she would have been now- a woman of principal, but not of fixation.


	16. 16

Pamela lay curled up on the couch, shaking slightly. Her hair was a mess, tangled and haphazardly covering most of her face. She could still see, though. She could see her purse and her vest. She could see his pants, and she could see him happily lounged on the other end of the cheaply upholstered couch. Her bare legs lay across his lap. Skin touching skin, sweat melding together into a heap of general discomfort. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seemed to like it.

Pamela took sort, controlled breathes, her chest barely expanding in the hope that she could disappear or at least that he would forget she was there. She didn’t want to look him in the face, she didn’t want to speak to him, and she certainly didn’t ever want to do that again.

Professor Woodrue let out contented sigh and callously moved Pam’s legs off of his lap, raising himself up to his full height and stretching his long limbs, a tone-deaf grin was plastered on his face. Pam made a move to sit up straight, but thought better of it, worried that her ability to move would signify to him that she was ready for another go. She wasn’t. So she remained in the fetal position waiting for him to exit the room. And he did, without bothering to pull his pants back on, he walked from the office into the lab.

Pam sat up quickly and pulled her plaid skirt on, neglecting her tights and making sure her sweater wasn’t tucked into the waistband. She was pushing her hair back into her headband when Woodrue returned, holding a glass of oddly colored liquid.

“What’s that?” Pam asked, her voice hoarse.

“Just water enhanced with electrolytes.” He held the cup out to her. “It will hydrate you.”

Pam reached out and took it in her hand. She examined its contents, noting that the liquid had a slightly thicker consistency than water. “No thank you.” She said, smiling placidly up at him, her face calm but her heart racing. “I’m not all that thirsty.”

“Oh, but I insist.” He held her face in place and took the cup back from her, slowly tipping its contents into her mouth himself. He made eye contact with her the entire time, emptying the whole glass without allowing her to take a break. She choked and sputtered with the last mouthfuls but he simply looked at her, something dangerous and insistent in his eyes.

“Eh!” She spat. It tasted like kale and battery acid.

“Good girl.” He cooed, patting her on the head again, reminding her that in his presence she was something slightly less than human.

“I’ve never had ele—“ Pamela’s tongue flopped limply out of her mouth. “Wha tha,” she was unable to form the words correctly as she reached up to feel the pink muscle. Although she couldn’t see it, she knew that it was enflamed. Her first thought was that she was having an allergic reaction, but when her eyes came back to focus on her professor, she found that he was smiling down at her- beaming, in fact. And that was the last thing she remembered before her surroundings softly faded into darkness.

/

“So...? What do you think?” Harley asked nervously.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was sitting up in the reclining chair, intently studying his patient- err- doctor. “Do I think there’s a chance it could be Borderline Personality Disorder? Sure. I mean, anything is possible and you have certainly described some of the common symptoms. But do I think that’s what it is? No. No not really.”

“Why?” Harley asked, pouting slightly.

Crane set his notepad down. “The mood swings you’ve described are simply not severe enough.”

“OK, well…What about schizophrenia?”

“No family history, Doctor.”

“But the voice I hear…”

Crane sighed. “While the voice is slightly alarming, I wouldn’t immediately jump to schizophrenia. If I were your doctor, rather than the other way around, I would chalk these symptoms up to stress.”

Harley arched an eyebrow. “Stress? That’s it?”

“I understand that it’s difficult to be impartial when evaluating yourself, but I believe those more severe diagnosis you mentioned are more a product of your fear than true psychological analysis.”

“OK…” Harley acquiesced, leaning back in her chair. “But all of this stemming from stress or anxiety would mean that I had gone through or was experiencing something particularly traumatic.”

Dr. Crane shook his head. “Not traumatic, per say. From what you’re describing, it seems that you’ve been slowly accumulating stressors since the day your gymnastics career began.”

“But that was years ago, Dr. Crane.” Harley protested.

“That’s irrelevant. Those stressors were simply lying dormant in your memory. Now you’ve begun a new job and are attempting to prove yourself as a competent professional, not to mention being constantly tested by the very sick minds you’re attempting to remedy. Speaking of which, a mental chess match with Poison Ivy is a game few among us could win, Batman included. You have quite literally entered into the belly of the beast, Dr. Quinzel. And you did so with more than a few unresolved issues of your own.”

“Says the man in chains.” Harley balked.

“Oh, the irony is not lost on me, Doctor. As far as the voice goes, I think it’s simply a symptom of your transition from a young girl growing up in central Gotham to elite athlete to exemplary academic. From just the quick history you’ve given me, it sounds like none of those transitions were particularly smooth and so it’s entirely possible that some part of your psyche is still identifying with your former self or circumstance.”

Harley bit her lip, mulling Crane’s words over in her mind. “And that aspect of my psyche has been ‘awakened’ by an onset of stress.”

“Yes.” Crane nodded. “If I were your psychiatrist, that’s what I would tell you.”

Harley sighed. “OK. I accept your hypothetical diagnosis.” They sat in silence for a moment before Harley asked, “how have your symptoms been? Does the new dosage we agreed on seem to be making a difference?”

Crane shrugged. “Yes and no. You can take all the drugs in the world but you won’t get better until you want to get better. You should remember that, Dr. Quinzel because I would like you to get better. You’re one of the few competent Psychiatrists I’ve had.” He watched as Harley’s lips stretched into a grin. “I don’t mean that as a compliment as much as I do a wake-up call, Doctor.” He continued. “I might be playing for the other side but the game isn’t much fun without a few decent heroes.”

Harley nodded in understanding and got up to call the guard.

“That was your one free pass, Harleen. Next time you’re of less-than-sound mind, I will see it as an opportunity.”

“Clarence!” Harley yelled through the slot in the door. A loud clanking of metal came in response as the door was unlocked. She turned back to her patient one last time before leaving. “Take your meds, Crane.”


	17. 17

Poison Ivy was ready for a fight. Correction: she wanted a fight. She had been in Arkham for a month now, hadn’t seen Dr. Quinzel for a week, and they still hadn’t thrown her in solitary yet for her alleged pheromone attack. Ivy was used to being either tepid or furious, this somewhere in between nonsense was beginning to frustrate her. Oh what she wouldn’t give for a bat-brat to string up right about now. In the absence of the Dark Knight and his lackeys, Ivy’s next choice would be to hit a museum or some sort of banking establishment in order to rid herself of boredom. Money and plants, that’s what Poison Ivy was about. But now here she was in a cell, her friend- OK, maybe that’s too generous…her DOCTOR- gone, her plants still in a fledgling state…there wasn’t anything to—

“Yoohoo! Poison Oaky!”

 _Shit_. She grimaced. She should have been careful what she wished for. “You look horrible, Joker.”

“Cruel and unusual punishment. That’s what I told them.” He spat at Clarence as the guard led him back to his cell.

Ivy took some respite in the knowledge that the clown was still bound in a straitjacket. “Well, are you reformed?” she chided.

“On the contrary, my Wicked Witch of Wretchedness, I am inspired!” Joker gleamed as he was shoved into the three walled room.

“’Inspiration’ is not an antonym of ‘reformation’ you Neanderthal.” Ivy was growing tired of this exchange already.

“Ooh, that’s a good one, Pammy. I say, the more time you spend out of the sun the more you begin to look like my 2nd grade English teacher. She was a crabby bitch too. So that’s two things you have in common. Three if you count her propensity to eat pussy.”

“Clarence!” Ivy snapped at the guard. “Do you want to tell me why this maniac is back amongst the living?”

The guard shrugged as he turned the lock on Joker’s door. “Dr. Quinzel said you two deserved each other.”

“Well fuck her!” Ivy screeched, past the point of exasperation.

Joker cackled. “You’d like to, wouldn’t you?”

Ivy’s eyes glowed a brighter shade of green and the fern erupted from the small pot behind her. Jaw clenched, mouth held in a tight, hard line, she sent the plant charging for the glass.

“Isley!” Dr. Leland’s voice came echoing down the hall. “Pamela, stop!” Ivy hesitated just long enough for Leland to be standing face to face with her on the other side of the glass. “Dr. Isley, don’t do this.” She panted. The fern halted its approach. “Listen, we all hate The Joker...”

“Hey!” The clown protested. “That’s awfully unprofessional of you, Doctor. Don’t you think?”

“SHUTUP!” Leland and Ivy screamed in unison.

“Come on, Pamela.” Leland continued. “He’s not worth it. You’re making real progress this time, I can see it. Don’t choose this as the moment you throw it all away.”

“But haven’t I already thrown it away, Doctor?” Ivy sneered. “I doubt my little stunt with Dr. Quinzel is going to go over well with the Justice Board.”

Leland moved closer to the glass. “Extraordinary circumstances sometimes require extraordinary measures, Dr. Isley. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“A very…enlightened statement of you, Joan.” Ivy said guardedly.

“Mmm.” Joan grunted, having entered into a match of uncomfortable eye contact. “I’m keeping him near you as a reminder of the type of people who deserve to be locked up in here. Let me know if you see any common themes between you two.”

“That seems a bit vindictive, Doctor.” Ivy uttered through clenched teeth.

Joan smiled. “Good. How does it feel?”

/

“In here, please.” Harley directed the delivery men to her living room- the largest room in her apartment.

The bigger one surveyed the space. “Are you sure, Ma’am?”

“Absolutely positive.” Harley smiled.

The men exited her home an hour later leaving an Olympic style balance beam behind.

“What’s that for, Harl?” The voice inside her asked.

“This…” Harley started, stripping off her skirt and replacing it with pair of spandex shorts. “Is so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“W-whad’ya mean?

“I mean I am enveloping you back into my mainline stream of consciousness.” Harley replied aloud shamelessly.

“Is’zat even English?”

Harley laughed, hoisting herself up onto the beam. “God, you really are an idiot.”

“Ya mean YOU really WERE an idiot.”

“Right.” Harley completed a quick cartwheel. “That’s sort of the point. I evolved too fast.”

“You sayin’ ya sorry for leavin’ me behind?”

Harley landed in a bridge and gracefully kicked her feet over her head. “Yes. I was doing the same thing that Ivy was doing- trying to ignore the past. And though I may not be a supervillain, I am definitely not in my right mind. You are proof of that.”

“Hey!” The voice was clearly offended. “So, what? You think you doin’ a little gymnastics every once’ina while’s gonna get rid a me? Presto, bizmo, poof! I’m gone?”

Harley steadied her feet and checked behind her shoulder to make sure she had enough room on the beam. “Well I think this will be a good start.” She took two deep breaths and completed a backflip, but the landing was a little sloppy and she had to jut her arms out to stay on the beam. “If you’re still around after that I’ll have to go back a little further. Probably take a deeper look at my relationship with dad or something.” She placed her hands on the beam and pushed her legs out to the side, controlling her weight on just her arms. “Maybe I’ll look into some medication if it gets too bad.”

“Medz? Bleh!” The voice spit. “You ain’t that crazy, Harl.”

“You’re…” Harley grunted as she swung her legs, gathering momentum and then pushing herself up into a handstand. “…Hardly qualified to speak on the subject.” Her words sputtered out between labored breaths.

“Nuh uh! I’m you! I’m jus’ as qualified as you are!”

“No.” Harley broke her legs apart and held them parallel to the ground, making her body resemble the letter ‘T’. “You’re representative of the former me. Note your stupid accent. I…” She flipped her body downwards, returning to her first position. “I attempted to hide that version of myself- that’s you…” She lifted her feet back to the beam and stood up. “And clearly my cold-turkey approach stressed me out so much that I can now have a fully-fledged conversation with you.” She did a backflip off the beam, sticking the landing and making her plates rattle against each other in the cupboard. “In case you weren’t aware, Harley…that’s not healthy or normal.” She put her hands on her hips, assuming a stance of strength and nobility. “So this time I’m going to embrace you rather than shut you out. It’s as simple as that.”

“But what’er’ya gonna do if it ain’t that simple? You gonna resign? Cuz, uh, Crane said this kinda thing’d probably make ya…umm…susceptible ta suggestion.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But for now, please shut the fuck up.”


	18. 18

The pain hit her before her vision was fully restored. It set in like a full body headache, an all-encompassing agony- dull yet insistent. She groaned as a bright light radiated above her. Even with her eyes shut she could tell the source was placed right above her face. She could feel the heat of the powerful bulb on her skin.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Professor Woodrue’s voice invaded Pamela’s consciousness.

She blinked, attempting to adjust her eyes, but the light was overwhelming.

“You were out a little longer than I expected…” Woodrue was saying. “It’s possible I may have overdosed you right off the bat.” He laughed.

“I don’t…” Pamela mumbled. “What did you…”

“Shhh….” Woodrue put his finger to her lips and then quickly replaced it with his own, giving her a quick kiss and then returning his attention to whatever he was working on.

The room was finally beginning to come into focus. Pam could make out his shape hunched over a work bench to her right. She went to move but realized she couldn’t. Her hands and feet were strapped down, cinched tightly to an examination table by thick leather straps.

Woodrue moved back into the light carrying an almost comically large syringe. Pam didn’t know how long she’d been out, but the professor looked like a different man. That look that she remembered- the maniacal intensity within his eyes…he had become that, or rather, it had become him. His hair stood on end, and damp with sweat at the sides. His face was stretched into a ghoulish grin not unlike one you’d find carved into a jack-o-lantern. Pamela tried desperately to break from her restraints, flexing every muscle in her body, thrashing her hips against the table.

“So eager…” Woodrue crooned. Placing his hand on her navel, he shoved her hips flush against the table. She was still weak from whatever he’d given her to knock her out, and even at full strength she was physically inferior. Pamela knew whatever this was…it wasn’t going to end well for her.

“Be a good girl for me, Pammy.” He tapped on her arm to expose her veins, but her thrashing had already increased her vascularity.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked frantically, her voice panicky and uncharacteristically high.

“You are going to be part of a grand experiment, Dr. Isley. Your sacrifice will be heralded as _the_ definitive breakthrough for botanical toxicology.”

Her heartrate quickened. “M-m-my sacrifice?” The syringe pinched as it perforated her soft skin.

/

“Good morning!” The Joker’s greeting was exuberant. He entered with grand wave to his new psychiatrist.

Dr. Quinzel nodded politely. “Good morning. I suppose it would be a waste of time to ask your real name?”

The Joker cackled. “I suppose it would.” He plopped down on the reclining chair and tucked his arms behind his head, using them as a cushion.  
His body language conveyed dominance- male confidence. He was different than Ivy. She was smooth, her movements like liquid. He was sharp, his body all angles. His movements were large and expressive just like his voice. But while Ivy lulled you in like a snake charming its pray, The Joker seemingly just opened the door, and that Harley could not trust.

“Dr. Harleen Quinzel.” He grinned. “Work it around a bit, and you get Harley Quinn!”

“Like the clown character ‘harlequin’.” She drawled. “I know. I’ve heard it before.”

“It’s a name that puts a smile on my face.” And that smile was now stretching his lips past what should have been humanly possible. “It makes me feel there’s someone here I can relate to.”

Harley’s stomach turned. The Joker was simply beginning a seduction routine of his own, although it was considerably less enjoyable for the audience than Ivy’s. Regardless, Harley had studied up on all his tricks. She was ready for anything he threw at her.

“You know…” He began with a sigh, “my father used to beat me up pretty badly.”

Harley arched an eyebrow. _This one’s new_ , she thought.

“It’s true. Every time I got out of line…BAM! Sometimes I’d be just sitting there, doing nothing…POW! He tended to favor the grape, you see.”  
Harley made a quick note, feeling a small twinge of excitement spark within her. “And your mother? Was he abusive towards her as well?”

The Joker sighed again with even greater enthusiasm. “Oh at the beginning, I’m sure. But Mommy was always the smart one. She got out lickety-split! Unfortunately, she forgot to take me with her.”

“Uh, hiya Harl!” The familiar voice piped up within the doctor’s mind. Harleen froze and felt a chill wash over her as her face drained of color.

‘Not now, not now, not now, not now…” She tried not to alert her patient of what was going on within her head. He had resumed talking again, so it seemed doubtful he was party to the disturbance. ‘What do you want?!’

“Gee, Harl. That’s no way ta talk to yaself. Didn’t anybody ever teach’cha bout’ self-esteem?”

‘Not now. Please. Please not now.’

“Gosh. I just thought I’d help ya out!”

‘What could you possibly be able to help me with?’

“There was only one time I ever heard my father laugh.” The Joker was saying.

“OK, OK I’ll be quick.” The voice assured. “I was jus thinkin’…ya know how Leland was sayin’ that Poison Ivy and The Joker was irre…irredeemable?” He struggled pronouncing the last word.

Harleen visibly rolled her eyes. The Joker stopped his story. “Am I boring you, Doctor?” He asked.

“Oh, no. No.” Harleen told him apologetically. “Please, go ahead. I just…silly spelling mistake.”

“Ah.” His face saddened. “There was only one time I ever saw my father truly happy…”  
The doctor turned herself inwards. ‘OK. Go! Say what you need to say and then GO!”

“Alright! Geez. Anyway, I was thinkin’ that if Red wasn’t all that bad…”

‘Wait, who’s Red?’

“Ivy. Duh! Anyways, if she wasn’t all that bad then maybe Jokes over here ain’t so bad either.”

“Oh I remember the clowns…” The Joker’s tone was nostalgic. “Running around, dropping their pants…”

“See? He’s jus’ tryin’a relate to his daddio. He ain’t actually evil, he’s just tryin’a make a joke!”

‘OK…I see what you’re getting at. It’s not a bad theory…’ Harleen tapped her pen on her chin thoughtfully. ‘But basing Joker’s integrity on Ivy’s is misguided. Ivy manipulated me with her pheromones. She might be sane, but she’s still evil. Just like Joker might have daddy issues, doesn’t mean this isn’t a ploy.”

“Why is it my fault when batsy doesn’t get the joke?!” Her patient was ranting now.

Harley shook herself out of the fog. Hardening her features at the man having disregarded her Harley’s advice. “My mother told me that jokes at the expense of other people aren’t really jokes at all, they’re just hurtful.”

“Your mother sounds like a right twat!” The Joker chortled.


	19. 19

Poison Ivy had spent a lot of time in the last month and a half pretending like things didn’t bother her. Actually, she’d spent years doing that, believing that if something did not negatively affect her noble crusade directly, it was not worth her petty frustrations. Poison Ivy was not petty. She saw the world through a wide scope, took everything in at once and weeded the bad from the good immediately. The world was black and white…there were humans, there were plants, and there was her. That’s it. Simple.  
The Last month and a half had not been simple. It had been full of gray area. Full of doubt, and guilt and second guessing. And so here she was, getting upset over a petty thing.

The Joker had been taken from his cell again for his third session with Harleen…with Dr. Quinzel. Even without the sun, Ivy had (predictably) turned a darker shade of green. She rolled her eyes at the cliché. Not only was she human now, she was also the physical embodiment of a cheap idiom. Poison Ivy was really, actually “green with envy.”

Harleen had requested many times that Ivy not treat her like a flower. During their first meeting, in fact, Harley had made it clear she was not something to be cultivated. A shiver ran down Ivy’s spine as she remembered how Woodrue used to pat her on the head, standing over her, looking down at her. She did not want that for Harley. She was determined to allow this girl to be her own person. Her own woman. But Ivy hated The Joker. She hated him with a fiery passion not unlike she hated the CEOs of corporations that greenlit clear-cuts of the rainforest. The Joker was a monster, plain and simple. A monster who frequently detonated harmful explosives around wayward foliage and looked hideously similar to…well in his essence, Ivy found that Joker looked a lot like Jason Woodrue. The long face, the sharp features, the eyes…and suddenly Ivy was right back on that table again, thrashing against her restraints. Or even worse, she was back on that cheap couch and he was…Ivy shook her head furiously, willing the memory away. But it wouldn’t go away. She could feel him on her…in…her.

Was this the point of therapy? Is this what being human is? Feeling weak. Being a slave to your past. Experiencing something not just on the skin, but in your whole body? Like that pain on the table, all-encompassing and horrible.

/

“So that day with the pants, was it the first time you remember correlating pain with humor?” Dr. Quinzel asked, her pen poised at her paper.

“Come to think of it…” The Joker said reflectively. “Yes! I believe it was.”

“Mmm.” Harley made a note. “And what about your father? Did he find the abuse humorous?”

“No, silly girl.” Joker chuckled. “Daddy never laughed. Remember? Just at the clowns!”

“And after that incident, did you continue to attempt to make your father laugh using the same routine?”

The patient shrugged. “I guess you could say I never quite learned my lesson.”

“OK.” Harley took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “What is it that you found amusing about the clowns? Not your father, you.”

“Why they were funny, of course!” The Joker was flabbergasted. “I thought that would be obvious to you with a name like ‘Harley Quinn.’”

Harley shoved the glasses back on her face. “My name is Harleen Quinzel. Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Now can we get back to you, Joker? Because I already did this back and forth thing with another patient, and it got a bit exhausting, to be honest.”

“Hmmm…” The Joker arched an eyebrow. “Someone’s salty.”

Harley sighed. “I’m sorry Mr….J—“ She reminded herself he didn’t have a last name. “Mr. Joker. I don’t presume to tell people what is or isn’t funny.”

“And here I thought you’d have a sense of humor.” He pouted.

“Perhaps under different circumstances.” Harley tried to smile kindly. “I think we should wrap it up there for today.”

/

Ivy sat on her cot staring blankly at the wall. She hadn’t blinked in some time, and honestly, she didn’t care if she ever blinked again. That was all there was to do- sit and not blink. Ivy was studying one spot, a small crack in the otherwise smooth concrete wall. She had intended it as her escape route. She would plant a small seed in that crack and it would grow, eventually joining forces with her potted plants and lead her into the glorious sunlight. That was not her plan anymore. She didn’t even have a plan anymore. But she did have…eyes on her back. She hadn’t heard them approach, but she could feel their gaze. Whoever it was did not speak, and Ivy didn’t turn around.

“What do you want?” Ivy finally asked, the silence growing tiresome rather than unbearable. She wanted to be left alone to mentally prepare for whatever barrage of insults The Joker had prepared for her.

“I want to know if you’re worth it.” A gravelly male voice replied.

Ivy’s spine stiffened. She knew that voice. She HATED that voice. “Oh I’m always worth it, baby.” She purred, turning slowly to face The Bat.

“Not like that, Isley.” He grumbled.

“Like what?” Ivy asked, feigning innocence as she ran her fingers over her breast and down her thigh.

The Dark Knight was careful not to watch her hand. “That new doctor of yours seems to think you’re on the path to sanity.”

“Mmm…” Ivy was seemingly unamused. “Well my new doctor is also only 26 years old and was uninvited from the Olympic Trials due to a sex scandal. So…I would take her opinion with a grain of salt, if I were you.”

“She slept her way through college too.” He smirked. “Reminds me of someone…”

Ivy shot up angrily and started in a fury towards the glass, her eyes a sparking like lightening in a temperate forest. She was only two feet and a thick pane of glass away from her smug target when the overhead lights began to flicker. When they came back on at full capacity, Batman was gone but Ivy was still advancing. She slammed her fist against the glass until the bruising that had accumulated on the side of her palm was too swollen to continue. “I have been handed nothing!” She seethed to the empty space he left. “Everything I have is despite men, not because of them!” Her voice was ragged and her chest heaved. “I am Pois...I am…I am Pamela Isley.”


	20. 20

Pamela had a fever again. This was the second night after she’d woken up from her coma and although her vitals seemed to be better, she felt considerably worse. She was sweating profusely, her thick red hair matted to her forehead by the perspiration. Her hospital gown clung to her damp chest and she had thrown the blankets off of her and onto the floor.

“He knows how to make me better. He knows how to make me better. He knows how to make me better.” She repeated the phrase over and over again with a labored, dehydrated delivery.

“Pamela, we don’t know who ‘he’ is. Can you tell us who ‘he’ is?” The nurses voice was sweet and actually rather calming. Had Pamela been in her body, that voice may have relieved some of her panic, but the truth was she was not. She was floating somewhere up above them, not dead but wishing she could be.

“Here, honey.” The nurse held a cup with a straw up to her mouth. “Can you take a drink?”

“The Professor! He knows how to make me better.” Pamela’s eyes were crazed, darting frantically around the room.

“I’m sorry, Pamela. I don’t know who that is.” She offered the straw again. Pam batted it away. “Honey, your temperature is 106 right now. I’m going to need you to drink some water.”

Pam snatched the cup from the woman’s hand and drained the entire thing. “He did this to me!” She screamed, throwing the plastic cup across the room. “He can fix it!”

“OK.” The woman stroked her wet hair. “Well right now, I’m going to see if I can fix it, OK?”

Pamela leaned over the side of the bed, thinking she might vomit, but reconsidered, instead smashing her head back as far into the stiff pillow as she could. She watched the nurse dip a washcloth in a basin of cool water and raise it to Pam’s forehead, dabbing gently. The hands were so soft and the water felt so good…Pamela’s lip quivered as a stream of liquid escaped the towel and ran down to her neck. It felt a bit like a tear, and she knew the real tears were coming. They were building up behind her eyes, mounting pressure as she attempted to blink them back. And as she watched the nurse, she saw that the woman was really not a woman at all- she was a flower. Her face bloomed in a brilliant blossom, bright red and opening itself up to the sun to drink in its nutrients.

Pam smiled at the pretty thing, extending her arms to touch it. To gently stroke its petals. But the flower cowered away from her suddenly, shrunk back into the corner of the small room. Pam tilted her head curiously. Did the flower want to play a game? Pam smiled at that, and tried again to touch the pretty blossom, but…she blinked…she blinked again. She shut her eyes tight and did not open them until she’d counted to 10. But no…it was still there…her skin was...Pamela held her hands up to the light, turning them over and back again. They were as green as her eyes. She was. She was green.

“He did this.” Pamela whispered. “He…” She turned back to the flower, her eyes full of tears and sobbed. “Why would he do this?” She tucked her knees to her chest and began to rock back and forth. “Why would he do this?” but as her momentum increased, her tears began to dry up until she was screaming rather than crying, and her words were quickly passing into the realm of incoherent. There was only one word that seemed to hail from the English language- “Why?”

/

Harley twisted the key in her locked office door and entered.

“Dr. Quinzel.” Batman was standing behind her desk.

“Oh, god!” She jumped. “Why do you do that?”

“In my line of work it’s good to have the element of surprise on your side.” He told her, circling around her desk to meet her near the doorway.

Her hand was clutching at her heart. “What did you think? I was going to attack you?”

The Dark Knight shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

“OK, well why did you lock the door? Just a habit? Or, What? Were you trying to impress me?” Harley wished she could have said that smoothly, like Ivy would have, with a hand on her hip and an amused smile on her face, but she was still on edge from the scare and it came out extraordinarily uncool.

“Force of habit.” He intoned.

Harley crossed the room and set her notepad down on the desk. “How did it go?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”

Harley nodded in understanding. “She got mad. Did you tell her the thing about me?”

Batman crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That’s what set her off.”

“When you lumped her in with me?”

He nodded.

“OK…” Harley began to pace in tight circles. “Do you think she was mad for be or because of me?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Dr. Quinzel.”

“That’s fine.” Harley told him. “I’ll watch the tapes and make my own determination. I just want your opinion. You were standing right there.”

Batman remained stoic. “Well she attempted to use your history to discredit you.”

Harley stopped and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“She told me that given your athletic ‘scandal’, your medical opinion should be taken with a grain of salt.”

“She t…she told you about that?” Harley asked, her wide eyes betraying her steely expression.

Batman nodded.

Harley began to pace again. “So she was annoyed at the insinuation.”

“She was furious at the insinuation.” The Dark Knight corrected.

“Mm.” Harley acknowledged his choice of words. “Well thank you for coming all the way out here. I doubt it feels like it was worth the trip.”

“On the contrary, Dr. Quinzel. I appreciate what you’re doing here. There’s a reason I always bring them back here even though I know they’ll escape.”  
Harley waited expectantly.

“I want to give them a chance to get better.”

Harley smiled. “Well I’m doing my best.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Harleen.” He said, his voice even-toned and sincere. “Even you.”


	21. 21

Harley rounded the corner at a pace that some might liken to a jog. She called it a powerwalk. The effect was infinitely more satisfying when the clacking of her smart heels in the cavernous hallway echoed far ahead of her, alerting the red head of her approach. She was coming in hot.

“What the hell, Isley?” The young doctor’s shrill words echoed in the empty cafeteria.

Poison Ivy’s cafeteria privileges had been restored, but she was still not allowed in close proximity to the male inmates, which disallowed her conversing with any of Arkham Asylum’s current occupants. So Ivy was granted an empty cafeteria for 20 minutes every day and Harley intended to crash it.

The blonde stopped 5 feet before Ivy’s table. Ivy herself had yet to turn around. “Excuse me?” Harley said, impatiently tapping her foot. “Your doctor is talking to you.”

“Oh?” The plant queen said, feigning confusion. Harley could only see the back of her head, but she could tell that the villainess was smiling. “I thought you were The Joker’s doctor now.”

Harley didn’t want to talk to Poison Ivy, she wanted to talk to Pam, but Harley had come in upset, automatically forfeiting the position of dominance. She knew that.

“Ivy…” Harley gave an exacerbated sigh, crossing her arms haughtily. “Are we being petty?”

Ivy laughed at that- powerful and melodic. The sounds tickled Harley’s eardrums. She turned around, whipping her long hair like she was in a music video.

Harley wanted to roll her eyes, but her body was forcing a different reaction. She bit her lip. _Ugh, these fucking pheromones._

“We? Dr. Quinzel?” Ivy asked, a malicious smile playing on her lips. “I had no idea our relationship was so serious.”

“No…” Harley said, her face flushed. “I was referring to you like I would a child because your behavior is childlike.”

Ivy chuckled once more. “That’s a bizarre statement, Dr. Quinzel, seeing as how- firstly- I don’t know what behavior you’re referencing, and secondly- I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“Ah.” Harley put her hands out like she could stop the words from seeping in. “Don’t…don’t say that. It’s. Bleh.”

Ivy cocked her head to the side with an unnaturally innocent expression. “Have you never had an older woman…”

“Knock it off.” Harley snapped, sitting down on the bench across from her.

“…as a patient?” Ivy finished the question that Harley had so rudely interrupted.

“Oh you know exactly what you were doing” Harley sneered.

Ivy maintained her innocent expression and so Harley laughed, much to Ivy’s surprise. But Harley didn’t just laugh, she cackled, high and desperate, like she hadn’t laughed in quite some time. The green woman watched with great interest as tears began to stream down the blonde’s face. Her chest heaved as swells of oxygen were pushed out of her lungs. Finally, the wheezing subsided and Harley gasped for air, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Are you…” Pamela searched the woman’s face for a clue as to what the hell just happened. “Are you OK?”

“Ha! No.” Harley answered honestly, resting her back against the table behind her. “I thought we had a thing going, you know? Quit pro quo? You did notice I didn’t tell Leland about the pheromones, right?”

Ivy arched an eyebrow. “I did…”

“Not many people know about that Olympics thing, Ivy. Coach made sure of it. But I told you.” Harley’s words conveyed more disappointment than anything. “I told you because I thought we had a rapport. And then you go and tell Batman? What the heck was that for?”

Ivy was unsure of how to respond…so she didn’t.

Harley continued on, evidently she had not intended for Ivy to actually answer her questions. “I had to take a step back for a minute, Red. And really, that was your fault! Whatever pollen you doused me with…I couldn’t do my job. I guess that’s how it works…” Harley was rambling now. “It’s just a big fat distraction. Your face and your body and your skin and your hair and your voice and your laugh…You never want to actually get better, that’s your problem. You get in your own way. You and all of that.” Harley indicated Ivy’s whole “everything” by gesturing in the general direction of her…everything. “And you didn’t even give me a chance! You dosed me up before ya even knew if I was any good! The real, honest, simple truth? Ya hurt my feelin’s, Red. And ya did it cuz ya didn’t want any real competition.”

Ivy was staring, dumbfounded, at the doctor. She opened her mouth to speak but then closed. She was more successful on her second try, but still rather in-eloquent in Ivy’s opinion of herself. “Why did you call me that?”

Harley blinked. “What?”

“Red.” Ivy’s tone was cautious.

An obvious panic overtook Harley’s expression. “Fuck. OK, just give me one second.” She got up and stripped off her lab coat.

Ivy furrowed her brow as the white garment was tossed onto her lap and Dr. Quinzel started up into a handstand. Her body swayed slightly, but ultimately stayed perpendicular to the ground.

“Doctor…” Ivy started. “Umm…Harley…”

“It’s Harleen. It has to be Harleen.” The upside down blonde’s plea was rather forceful.

“OK, Harleen.” Pamela’s tone was purposefully calm. “I know we’re not actually friends, or I betrayed you or whatever…You know the intricacies of human relationships sometimes go over my head…But…What’s happening right now? Exactly?”

The gymnast grunted. “I’m stressed out.”

Pamela nodded like that was even close to an adequate explanation. “So then why are you…”

“Doing a fucking handstand?” Harleen’s face had turned red from the blood rushing there. “Because I’m attempting to fight off a psychotic break, you twat. You and your mental chess game and your fucking pheromones are making the 16-year-old me, which evidently still lives inside my mind as a fully intact consciousness, want to run away back to crazy town! I’m doing a handstand so she will shut the fuck up!”

“I am not a twat.” Ivy spat.

“OH MY GOD!” Harley righted herself, returning her feet to the floor. “You just heard that whole insane spiel, yet you’re more concerned with ‘twat?’ Your psychiatrist is losing her mind, Pam!”

Ivy narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “I was going to get to the other stuff.”

“OK, well?” Harley tapped her foot impatiently.

Ivy ran her fingers through her hair, thinking. “Well…I would suggest not becoming a criminal. Like I said before, the whole split personality thing is Two-Face’s schtick. I don’t think he’d like you edging in on his territory.”

“God, you’re just…” Harley laughed, mirthlessly. “You really are the worst, aren’t you?”

Ivy sighed, looking bored. “Get on some meds, Harleen, and take a few days off. We all have a darkness inside of us, and yours happens to come in the form of a cute, teenaged gymnast.” She got up from the table. “There are worse things in this world.” She passed the blonde on the way out of the cafeteria. “Oh, and tell Harley I kind of like the pet name.” The plant queen shot a smirk over her shoulder at the girl. “It’s cute.”


	22. 22

Pamela’s eyelids fluttered open. The sunlight streamed onto her bed and she could feel the pleasant heat through the thin blanket. She granted herself a moment of bliss before remembering where she was. Pamela was in the hospital. She had been in the hospital for 6 months now, although she’d only been awake for two. Cautiously, she lifted her hand to the light. Sometimes she liked to think that it had all been a bad dream, and other times she thought, maybe, there was a chance she had made a miraculous recovery overnight. But no. No matter how many mornings she woke up hoping for a different result, it was always the same. She was always green.

Pamela’s room wasn’t like other hospital rooms. It was lined with plastic, essentially a half-baked attempt at a quarantine. The doctors only came in when they absolutely had to and Pam hadn’t had a single visitor her entire stay. To be fair, she hadn’t been easy to identify. She stumbled in sometime past midnight, sickly pale and horribly disoriented, wearing nothing but stained yellow hip huggers and a tattered brassiere. She had screamed something about “the poison” at the intake nurse and then promptly collapsed in a seizure. They did not speak to her again for 4 months. It wasn’t until Pamela woke up and began referencing a “professor” that the Seattle police began inquiring at University campuses. According to Pamela’s main nurse, her parents had been made aware of her condition and location…but they hadn’t come. They had sent flowers, though, a spring arrangement of red and yellow roses, orange carnations and Peruvian lilies. It was a tasteful bouquet. The Isleys were always at least tasteful. Along with the flowers they sent a generic card with the typed words “Get well soon!”

The redhead reached towards the bouquet which sat on the windowsill. She couldn’t quite reach the flowers, but as she strained her arm, she swore that they bowed their blossoms toward her, moving with her.

“Good morning, Ms. Isley.” The nurse said through her protective mask.

Pamela quickly pulled her hand back beneath the blankets. “It’s Dr. Isley.”

“My apologies.” The woman said, delivering the tray of food to the patient’s lap.

“No, thank you.” Pamela pushed it away.

The nurse seemed to be suppressing a sigh. “You have to eat, Dr. Isley. It’s the only way you’re going to get better.”

Pam laughed. “Better?” She pointed to the cup of green jello. “Is this supposed to have a paradoxical effect?”

The masked woman didn’t answer, electing instead to firmly press the tray down on Pamela’s thighs and change the subject. “Your family called when you were asleep.”

“Oh?” Pam tried to mask the hope in her voice.

“Yes,” the woman began, her eyes kind over the top of her mask. “They left a message, but I think it would be best if you just called them back.”

Pamela searched the woman’s face. That look of pity…she HATED it. Pam’s jaw clenched as did her fist below the blankets. She could feel herself beginning to turn. “Give me the message.” Her tone was clip and forced. The heat had slowly crept beneath her skin, like electricity in a circuit it was coiling itself, multiplying, making its way up to her vision. Pamela was going to rage. She knew she would, and she knew that whatever the nurse said would be the thing that set her off, but she had to it hear anyway.

The woman cleared her throat. “They wondered if you could set aside some time to discuss a billing arrangement for your stay here. They said 6 months was…” The nurse paused, regarding Pamela prudently. “They said that 6 months was a rather exorbitant vacation from your studies, which they are also paying for.”

Curiously, the rage did not spill forth from Pamela then. The heat in her body dissipated, replaced by a sort of lukewarm serenity. Her face relaxed and slowly her lips moved upwards in a broad grin. The flowers giggled.

/

Harley raised her fist to the door. How many knocks? Two? Heavy and purposeful, or three? In quick succession, one after the other? Harley didn’t know the knocking etiquette for this particular situation, so she went with her gut, wrapping her knuckles a tentative three times on the tall wooden door. There was no response, no sound emanated from within the condominium. This was stupid. Harley knew it was stupid…OK, well…Harleen knew it was stupid, Harley was too nervous to voice her opinion, which was just as well. It was the way it should have been, actually.

And then Harley heard it, heavy footsteps descending the flight of stairs just past the foyer.

“I doan wanna.” Harley told her. “Please, Harl. I doan wanna see him.”

But it was too late. The door swung open, revealing a rather stout man in a red and black track suit. Harleen’s heart leapt into her throat and her mouth screwed shut.

“Can I help you?” The man asked in a thick Russian accent that Harley had always found funny.

Harley cowered within her, but Harleen was determined to take charge. “Yes, hello.” She said. “I’m Dr. Quinzel.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Harleen Quinzel.” Harleen clarified.

His expression shifted to a look of confusion. “Harley?”

Harleen resisted the sudden urge to curtsey. “Hey, coach.”

“Why are you here?” He asked bluntly.

“Let’s go, Harl! C’mon, let’s go!” Harley pleaded.

Harleen kept her feet firmly planted on the ground. ‘No! I am going to move through this and I am going to move on.’

“I have a few questions to ask you, if you don’t mind. Can I come in?” She asked

The man grunted and opened the door wider, allowing her inside.

Harley chuckled at the predictability of being served a glass of straight vodka once they were sitting at the kitchen table. She watched as he swirled the liquid around in his glass. She would know that track suit anywhere. True, it had fit a little less snuggly on him 10 years ago, but the fabric…microtex, it was called. She remembered the way it had felt against her skin during the long plane rides and bus trips- slippery. The whole team had one and Harley always felt like a fish all dressed up with her eye glitter and her tight bun. And the club colors, red and black. Harley remembered wishing she could have competed for the Metropolis team, their colors were blue and red…a beautiful powder blue, just like Harley’s eyes. But Coach Aristov had recruited her and his club was in Gotham, so their colors were black like the city and red like the blood on the streets. Those had become Harley’s colors, and even today here she was wearing darkly washed jeans and a red and black argyle sweater.

“You say you are a doctor now?” Aristov asked.

“Yes.” Harleen took a sip of the vodka. “I’m a psychiatrist.”

“Ah.” He emptied his glass in one gulp. “Mind messer.”

Harleen didn’t make direct eye contact. “Well I’d like to think I help people more than I mess with them, but who knows. Maybe mind messer is an accurate description.”

Aristov allowed a few moments of silence to pass between them before asking. “What are your questions.”

Harleen didn’t answer right away. She had a lot of questions that she could ask a million different ways, but she wasn’t sure he would have the right answer, or an answer at all. “Why me?” She asked simply. “Why was I the one that…well…why me?”

Aristov furrowed his brow at the young woman across the table from him. “You were pretty girl.”

“That’s it?”

“You wanted it.” He elaborated. “You wanted a medal, you wanted to be on that team…you wanted it so bad. So I wondered how bad you wanted it. What you would do for it.”

Harley was upset. “I would’a done anything, Harl!”

‘And you did!’ Harleen shot back. ‘You did EVERYTHING, you slut.’  
  
Aristov was chuckling now. “You were a talented girl, Harley. Very good gymnast. Very…flexible.” He winked. “But I would have never guessed that you, out of all the girls I coached, would turn out the doctor. You were just such a…blonde.”

In the heat of the moment, Harleen had failed to factor in how the method would affect the cleanup. The hammer had been a weapon of convenience, and blood-wise, it wasn’t a terrible choice. Much better than a broken glass, which was her next best option. No, the problem was the hammer’s head left a distinct impression on the skull. It was an intricate little crisscross pattern that Harleen knew would be matched to the hammer rather easily. If she’d learned anything in her criminology class, it was that bodies and murder weapons are what make a case. Well, that and DNA, but Harleen definitely wouldn’t be leaving any of that behind. So she would have to take the hammer and the body…

“ORRRRRR….” Harley piped up. “We could mess up his face a lil’ more, obscure the wounds. That way we doan have to lug that sack around.”

‘It’s “I”. Harley, we’re the same person. Don’t call us “we”.’ Harleen huffed.

“OK, well, I doan think you’d last too long in prison, Sweetcheeks. Your…” Harley stopped her thought.

‘Were you about to say my ‘cheeks are too sweet’?’

“Yeah, but I stopped cuz I knew you was gonna make fun of me.”

Harleen rolled her eyes.

“But anyway,” Harley pressed onwards. “Why’s it even matta bout’ the weapon? It ain’t like we brought it from home or bought it at some store. It was his ta begin with.”

“Ugh.” Harleen groaned begrudgingly. “You’re right.”

Harley squealed with delight. “See? I ain’t so dumb after all. Now go wipe everything down and let’s get the heck outta dodge!”


	23. 23

Pamela was very still. In the darkest ethers of the cavernous bedroom she sat…watching. Occasionally, her father would snore, interrupting the stillness, but for the most part the world could have paused in its orbit and no one would have been the wiser. That was what it was to live in the Isley’s house- uncomfortably quiet.

Pamela crept to the window near their bed and inched it upwards, letting a cool breeze rush in. She had tried to love them. Really, she had. But they hadn’t let her. They never let her do anything. Pamela had been a hyper intelligent child, and that came with certain behavioral issues that were beyond her control. But they had made her control it. Snuffed her out. Every bit of her. They had robbed her of a personality and a childhood and, most of all, they robbed her happiness. The experience, the feeling, Pamela didn’t know how it felt to be “happy.”

The flowers outside the window giggled as Pamela loomed over the bed. “Mother.” She whispered. “Father.” They stirred slightly, but did not wake, so Pamela knelt down near her mother’s ear. “It’s me, Mother. It’s Pamela.”

Mrs. Isley’s eyes fluttered open and she let out a yelp, jumping back away from her daughter. “Pamela?! What’s…what’s happened to you?”

Pam smiled and sat down on the bed. “Something terrible, Mother. Remember? That’s why I’ve been in the hospital for 6 months.”

Mrs. Isley was frantically tapping her husband. “What is it?” He groaned.

“Pamela is here.” The woman’s voice came out much louder than she had intended.

Mr. Isley rolled over and sat up. “Oh my god!” He exclaimed, visibly repulsed by his daughter’s appearance. “They told us you were discolored, but this is absolutely unprecedented!”

Pam chuckled. “Yes, I do look rather terrifying. The hospital staff thought so too.”

“Will you ever…look normal, again?” Her mother asked, her voice shaking.

Pamela’s smile broadened as she shook her head from side to side. “It does not appear so, no. But watch this!” She quickly pulled a knife from her pocket and before her parents could react, she had sliced her palm open.

“Pamela! What are you…” Her mother watched in amazement as green fluid dripped from the wound.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Pam grinned, showing her father as well. “Terribly fascinating…”

Mr. Isley squinted his eyes to avoid the image. “Why are you here?”

“Well…” the green woman began, “I was released from the hospital today. Officially. And no one was there to pick me up, so I figured…since you all only live 13 miles from the hospital, I would come and pay you a visit. Something you, for some reason, never did during the 6 months I was there.”

“Well get out!” Her father told her. “If this is about the money, we will promise to pay if you promise not to come back here until your…condition…has been remedied.”

Pam turned her attention away from her father, focusing instead on Mrs. Isley. “Look, Mother. I’m like a flower now. I’m truly one of your roses.”

Mrs. Isley drew back as Pamela attempted to squeeze her hand. “You are an abomination. Oh Pamela…” Her mother’s eyes were regretful. “You were so…”

“Beautiful?” Pam guessed. The green woman sighed, rousing herself from her seated position. “That’s a shame.”

Mrs. Isley thought she saw something move in the windowsill. It was slithering, like a serpent into the room…it was…her roses.

Pamela saw her mother try to scream, but she had no voice. She was somewhere between outright terror and confusion and she remained in that semi-petrified state until the thorny vines had encircled around her throat, and by that time she only muster a yelp of pain.

The plant moved quickly, cinching itself down with aggressive force. The thorns ripped into their throats and the stems coiled themselves tighter, cutting off the victim’s air supply. Pamela stood there, her arms crossed, watching as her parents writhed in their sheets, gurgling as blood and air mixed in desperate gulps.

“Finish them.” Pamela intoned.

And then the night truly was still.

/

“When I said ‘take a few days off’, I meant ‘a few days’. Not one day.” Pamela told her psychiatrist.

Dr. Quinzel straightened a wrinkle in her skirt. “Well I took your other advice and saw a Psychiatrist of my own.”

“So…meds.” Pamela guessed.

“That’s right.” Dr. Quinzel smiled. “Have you ever been prescribed medication?”

“Yes.” Ivy answered plainly. “But along with an immunity to toxins comes an immunity to prescription medication.”  
Harleen made a note. “I take it it’s difficult for you to get drunk as well.”

Ivy laughed. “It’s nearly impossible. Why do you care?”

Dr. Quinzel shrugged. “Just curious. Did you ever drink? Even before the…change?”

“Are you referencing menopause or my transformation from meager human to the physical embodiment of Mother Nature?” She watched Harleen blush as she continued. “I shall give you an answer regarding both. Firstly, no, I did not drink before I was Poison Ivy. On my 21st birthday I ordered a cocktail. That’s it. The other thing simply doesn’t apply to me.”

Dr. Quinzel suppressed a laugh. “I have to know, the…youthful appearance, it’s a side effect of the experiments?”

Pamela nodded. “Indeed. My age progression was slowed significantly. I now mature more as a tree would than a human.”

“OK…” Harleen wrote something down. “So that’s physically, but what about mentally? Do you look at, say…me, and regard me as a child? Or do you see me as a peer?”

Ivy ran her fingers through her hair and pondered the question. Harleen shook her head.

“What?” Ivy asked.

“Nothing.” Harley smiled. “It’s just, you do that when you’re thinking. You mess with your hair.”

Ivy returned the good natured grin. “When you’re upset you tap your foot.” She thought for another moment before answering the question. “I’m not sure I have a definitive opinion on that. I…hold myself in a certain regard that can, at times, prevent me from seeing people as ‘equals’. But that wasn’t your question. The word you used was ‘peer’…” Ivy ran her fingers through her hair again. “From a biological standpoint, I recognize and acknowledge your youth in relation to mine, but psychologically speaking…I suppose I do regard you as a peer.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Harley who was nodding and writing on her notepad. “Interesting.”

“Why?” Ivy asked.

“You just acknowledged that your narcissism can hold you back in personal relationships.” Harley told her. “Congratulations, Pamela.” She laughed. “Now you know you’re a bitch.”


	24. 24

Harleen skipped out of Arkham that day, briefcase swinging merrily at her side. She jumped from the pavement to the small strip of grass and clicked her heels midair. Harleen felt light as a feather, free of Harley, Pamela was acknowledging her illness…it was a good day. She hopped over the side of her cherry red Mustang rather than opening the door because today was that kind of day and at this point she felt like the hero of an 80s romantic comedy.

Harleen checked her watch. 5:06pm. The store closed at 6, so she had plenty of time. After winking at herself in the rear-view mirror, she sped off down the uneven pavement.

5:28pm. She noted the sign on the door and pulled instead of pushed. She was usually prone to doing the wrong thing, but not today. Today was different. Today she was Harleen.

“Hello!” Her voice called happily to the woman at the counter.

“Hello.” The woman smiled in return, clearly this sort of upbeat energy was rare. “How can I help you?”

Harleen moved past the baseball equipment and the rack of basketballs, past the volleyball shoes and the lacrosse sticks. “I am looking for a leotard.”

“OK,” the woman nodded, coming out from behind the counter and leading Harleen into the dedicated gymnastics corner. “Which color?”

Dr. Quinzel scanned the rack. “Do you have anything in blue?”

The woman nodded again. “We do.” She moved a few leotards aside, arriving at the blue options. “Columbia blue, navy blue, powder blue, cerulean, shiny, sparkly, muted, velvet…You take your pick.” She took one off the rack and held it up to Harley. “This is our designated Supergirl design.” The leotard was blue with red piping and a ‘S’ emblem on the chest.

“Very pretty.” Harley admitted. “But I think I would prefer a plainer one, and anyway, that feels bit blasphemous.” She giggled.

The woman chuckled. “We do have a few Batman themed designs, if you’d prefer.”

“No, no.” Harley shook her head, smiling. “This one is just fine.” She pulled a plain powdered blue one from the rack.

“And how about some shorts to complete the ensemble. Gray, maybe?”

Harley nodded. “I was thinking charcoal.”

“Good choice.” The woman pulled a pair in the correct color from the shelf. “Is that it?”

Harley hesitated. “How long until you close?”

The clerk looked at her watch. “About twenty minutes.”

“Great. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look around a little more. See if anything else catches my eye.”

“That’s quite alright.” The clerk told her, heading back towards the counter.

Harley smiled down at the fabric in her hands. It was so silky. She hadn’t purchased a new leotard since…since she was invited to the Olympic trials. But enough of that! Out with the old, and in with the new. Harley didn’t notice the door open, but she did hear their voices.

One, a woman’s, announced herself as “Detective Montoya.” The other, a gruff, accented male voice said “Bullock.”

Harleen froze.

“Uh oh, Harl. What’r we gonna do?” Harley’s voice trembled.

Harleen rolled her eyes. ‘Piss. Off.’

“Umm…I know you’re tha smart one, or whatevah, but that ain’t a good plan.”

‘The plan is you’re going to shut up and we’re going to be fine. They’re probably here on a totally unrelated matter…’

“Have you ever seen this man?” Det. Montoya asked, holding up a picture that Harleen could clearly tell was Aristov’s.

‘Woopsie.’

Harleen skirted around the racks, hoping that the clothing would obscure her. They didn’t need to talk to her, she was just a random lady shopping in an athletic store. Nothing weird about that.

“Yeah.” The clerk told the detectives. “He runs the Gotham gymnastics program. Coach Aristov.”

Montoya folded up the picture and returned it to the front pocket of her leather jacket. “Did he come in here often?”

The clerk nodded. “We did all his uniforms and warm up gear. He was in here a lot.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Det. Bullock asked, a toothpick hanging from his mouth.

“Must have been…three days ago.” The woman told them.

“Was he acting at all unusual?” Montoya asked.

The woman shook her head. “He’s always brief. Gets his stuff and goes. Why? Has something happened to him?”

“Yeah. He’s dead.” Bullock told her nonchalantly.

“Oh…” The clerk said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Did anyone come in here with him?” Montoya asked.

The woman shook her head. “He always came in alone. He would check the orders himself before he left.”

“OK…” Montoya made a quick note on her palm and slipped the woman her business card. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”

Harleen went back to pretending she was intently shopping for a softball glove, but the detectives noticed her none the less.

“Excuse me, Miss…” Montoya began. “Is that a leotard in your hand?”

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.’

“Oh, umm…” Harleen looked down. “Why yes it is.”

“Is your daughter a gymnast?” The female detective asked.

“Oh, no.” Harleen chuckled. “I don’t have a daughter.”

“Hey…don’t I know you from somewhere?” Montoya wondered, moving closer.

Harleen shrugged. “Blonde hair and blue eyes, I look like a lot of people.”

“No, you…” Montoya tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You work at Arkham. You’re one of the doctors, right? I’m detective Montoya, I think I saw you talking to Poison Ivy the last time I dropped Scarecrow off.”

“Dr. Crane.” Harleen nodded. “Yes, now I remember. Pardon me, I’m awful with faces.”

Montoya chuckled. “Don’t even worry about it. What was your name again, Dr….”

“Uh oh, Harls, if ya tell em’ who ya are they’re gonna make the connection to coach!”

‘I know that!’ Harleen retorted. ‘But I can’t lie, she knows where I work!’

“Alright…” Harley was trying to take a deep breath. “Jus’ keep it professional then.”

“Dr. Quinzel.” Harleen stuck out a hand, meeting Montoya’s and shaking it.

“That’s right.” Montoya smiled, dropping her hand. “Evidently you’re making some real progress with Poison Ivy.”

Harleen grinned and shrugged in an adorable move she knew she could always win with. “Here’s hoping.”

Montoya crossed her arms and leaned backwards into a shelf, an effortless stance only someone in a leather jacket could pull off. “So what brings you down here? What’s with the leotard?”

Harleen noticed Bullock rolling his eyes behind his partner, seemingly familiar with this routine. “Oh, it’s for…”

“What’r ya gonna do, Harl?!” Harley’s voice was panicked once again.

“…for Ivy.” Harleen finished. “Yeah, we’re trying to break her of the green obsession. The color is a gateway to the plants, you see, so we’re going to try blue. You know how she is with her leotards, always wearing that leafy green one.” She smiled and showed the detective the shiny blue evidence in her hand.

“Huh, Isley in blue? I’d pay to see that.” Montoya laughed.

“Well, if all goes well, you won’t have to.” Harleen glanced up at the clock. “It appears we’ve over stayed our welcome, and I haven’t quite paid…”

“I guess I’ll see you back at Arkham.” Montoya winked.

“I guess.” Harley grinned.


	25. 25

Ivy knew she should be regarding Harley cautiously, approaching their conversations deliberately. If this truly was a chess match, and Ivy intended to win, she should not let her guard down, in fact, she should raise it, steeling her resolve. But there was something in Ivy that just didn't…want to. All her life, Pamela Isley had been ambitious, motivated, focused on a goal- to be the best, to be the smartest, to be a winner. Poison Ivy even more so. Despite her position as a pinnacle of Gotham's criminal community, Ivy always set aside time and brain power to further scientific discovery. As the first specimen of her kind, Ivy figured she owed it to future generations of…plants, of plants, to learn what she could about her physiology and develop weapons to aide in both her goal and the ultimate goal of plant domination. And sure, she could be a bit selfish with her cause, she patented original toxins and botanical fragrances and took credit for other breakthroughs she made for her field…but she earned that. With her hard work and tunnel vision and what had happened to her…she earned that. Dr. Woodrue told her she would be "THE definitive breakthrough for botanical toxicology," and so she would be, but not for him, for her…for the plants.

Clarence was leading Ivy into the cafeteria. This would be another one of she and Harleen's lunchtime meetings. If Ivy were being honest, she preferred these to her actual therapy sessions, although, from a tactical standpoint, she knew she should be taking the opposite stance. Ivy was aware that Dr. Quinzel had taken a more laid back approach so that Ivy would open up to her and see her as less of a threat, more of a friend than an adversary. That's what these impromptu lunches were about, taking Ivy out of her more natural habitat, and the truth was Ivy was a better home team than she was a visitor, so it was actually a fairly decent strategy…but there were times that Ivy liked having an excuse not to win. She would still win, of course, but playing from behind sometimes made the victory that much sweeter.

Dr. Quinzel was already waiting at Ivy's usual table, which was just as well, this way Ivy could make a show of walking in. Clarence unshackled her at the door and she approached Harleen slowly, a sly smile spreading across her lips. Harley's lips were colored a brighter shade of red today, and her eyes appeared more lively as a compliment to her baby blue sweater vest. Ivy chuckled looking at her ensemble. A blue sweater vest over a white blouse with a matching white pencil skirt.

"What?" Harleen asked, looking a bit nervous.

"The amount of white you have in your wardrobe…it's incredible." Ivy sat down on the bench across from her.

"I do a lot of laundry." Harley assured her with a wink.

Ivy felt a sudden urge erupting inside her, she was powerless against it. She tried to clamp her jaw shut to stop the air from escaping, but she couldn't. Ivy broke out in a throaty, melodic laugh that echoed through the room. A real laugh at something she really found funny. "What a ridiculous thing to wink at."

"No!" Harleen protested, a blush spreading in her cheeks. "I was doing your thing."

Ivy placed her hand on her stomach to feel the vibrations of her laughter. This laugh wasn't snide, although it was at another person's expense. This laugh felt good. She shook her head at Harley. "I make sexual innuendo and then wink."

"OK," Harleen was giggling now too. "Fine." She leaned back on the bench and deepened her voice, dramatically brushing imaginary hair off of her shoulder. "I do A LOT of laundry…" she slurred in her horrendous Poison Ivy impression, giving a terribly overzealous wink and pairing it with a lip bite.

The real Ivy buried her face in her hands. "You're a horrible person."

"No…" Harleen was back to her normal self. "You are. We've established that."

"Oh, what?" Ivy tossed her head back. "You've never done anything awful?"

Harleen shrugged. "Sure I have."

"I mean besides sleeping with your coach…and you teachers…actually…." Ivy cocked her head. "I think you might have a problem."

"Don't do that." Harleen was suddenly serious.

Ivy sighed internally at how quickly this part of the conversation had come. She was upset with herself, but she knew she had to press. Today was the day she finished her. "Is it Harley or Harleen that has the problem, you think? I'd put my money on Harley."

Harleen's features hardened. "It's not funny, Pamela."

Ivy smirked and her voice took on a whispier quality. "Sure it is, Dr. Quinzel. You're trying to tell me not to be so crazy while you're walking around with voices in your head. Surely you can recognize the irony."

"Surely, I can." Harleen spat.

"OK." Ivy leaned closer. "So here's the problem as I see it. You can't decide what we are. Am I your friend, your opponent, your patient or your doctor?"

"You're all four." Dr. Quinzel crossed her arms. "You have to be. That's what your psychology requires, and believe me, it's exhausting."

Ivy regarded her doctor curiously. "If you could choose, what would I be?"

"I would be the doctor and you the patient, of course."

Ivy shook her head. "I don't think so, Daffodil. I think you need a friend as much as you think I do."

Harleen stood up, likely realizing that Ivy was in attack mode and that she would not win this one.

"No, no. Don't go." Ivy grabbed the woman's jacket, pulling her back down. "You grew up poor in a rich girl's world, taking part in an expensive and demanding sport in which you competed against girls from your own team. So, no comradery there. In fact, the lack of community was so overwhelming that you felt the need to give up your body for success." Ivy was a bit surprised at the fact that Harley hadn't made another attempt to leave, but she continued. "You weren't given much opportunity to make friends outside of gymnastics." Ivy smiled kindly at the girl. "The boys didn't like you very much, did they? They were threatened by you because you were strong and tough, so you looked for men." Harley was beginning to tremble, her bottom lip, her eyes…Ivy had found the strategy, now she was going to let it carry her to victory. "But they took advantage of you. He took advantage of you, your coach. And he took something you loved away from you." Ivy watched as tears began to form in the blonde's eyes. "You saw your body as a currency and you exchanged it for an education that you could have earned yourself, Daffodil. But the other girls…they knew what you were doing and so they didn't want to be your friend either." A tear rolled down Harley's cheek and Ivy wiped it away quickly, knowing that it would burn Harley a little bit, but wouldn't leave a mark. Harley didn't flinch. "And then you show up here, and you see me…and you think I'm pulling the same routine, but I'm in control of it, I'm in control of them. It doesn't hurt me the way that it hurt you…You're done with having to be so strong. You want someone to be strong for you. You want to be dominated and you want to be told what to do and how to act and you don't want to have to think anymore. You don't want to be Harleen. You want to be Harley. Harley wants to be Harley." Ivy had tilled, sowed and watered. It was time to harvest. She sat back and waited for her flower to blossom.

"I don't wanna be Harley anymore!" the blonde exploded, tears streaming down he face. "I hate her! I don't want her here I just want to be me and I want to be smart and I want to be good at my job and I want to help you!"

"I know." Ivy wished she had worn a long sleeve so she could have hugged the girl, but the Arkham uniform made it so all she could offer was an understanding look.

"I know I could'a done it on my own, but I was scared, Red! I was scared I wasn't gonna be good enough- that I was just a cheap, Gotham trash. And Coach messed with me jus' like Woodrue messed with you!"

'Well, not exactly…' Ivy wanted to say. She had been through far worse than a…oh never mind, this was Harley's thing, hers could wait.

"So I was thinkin' bout' how it must jus' eat ya up inside that'cha never got payback on Woodrue, so I killed coach and…"

Harley continued blabbering but Ivy stopped listening. She WHAT?!

"But she was only gone for a day! And now she's back and she won't shut up!" Harley was sobbing.

'God damn it!' This was not how Ivy wanted to win, she didn't want Dr. Quinzel to end up in here. First, she got logistical. She checked the hallway for Clarence, who had evidently left them alone to take his break. The security cameras were functional, but they only recorded images, not sound. So far as Ivy could tell, she was the only one within earshot. Good.

"Harleen." Ivy grabbed the blonde by the shoulders. "Never repeat that again."

"It's Harley!" The girl sobbed. "You can hear her stupid accent..."

"No." Ivy said quickly. "You, Harleen Quinzel, have that stupid accent. When you get upset you slip back into it, that's all. You're just one person, remember? Stop trying to steal Harvey's thing."

The girl's body stopped shaking, but she continued to cry.

"Harleen, you need to calm down and take control of the situation. We don't become different people as we mature, OK? We're the same person, just older and hopefully a little wiser. That's called character development and this Harley/Harleen thing is not flattering, alright? It's disingenuous to your original characterization and it will be exploited in really annoying ways by people who don't know jack-shit about psychology."

Harley was wiping the tears onto her white lab coat, and they were smearing onto her sleeve, taking her mascara with them.

'Idiot.' Ivy thought. But Harley didn't need to be called an idiot right now. She needed a friend. "You're just a sweet kid with too much empathy. You are not that crazy. I am crazy. I am psychotic and diabolical and delusional and it is rubbing off on you."

Harley looked up at the green woman, surprised at her words. "You're not crazy, Ivy. You're…"

"Misunderstood?" Ivy rolled her eyes. Maybe she had actually dosed the girl with pheromones.

"No…" Harleen began, straightening herself up. "You're sick." A grin took root in her features, spreading from her lips to her eyes. "But it sounds to me like you're getting a lot better. This…this is a breakthrough."

Ivy felt her chess board crumble. "YOU BITCH!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes...Ivy did get a little meta there commenting on the Harley character's canon post the Bruce Timm/Paul Dini era. Aren't I clever?!?!?! Hardly...alright, maybe just a little :)


	26. 26

“Dr. Leland.” Harley greeted as she strode into her boss’ office without knocking. “I would like to write an appeal to the Board of Justice and have Pamela Isley deemed officially sane.”

Joan spat out her coffee. “I’m sorry?”

“I believe, that if given a proper purpose, Dr. Isley no longer poses a threat to the world around her for reason of insanity.” Dr. Quinzel explained. “She has come to learn the difference between right and wrong and more importantly, has proved on multiple occasions that she’s capable of both empathy and sympathy.”

“Look, Honey…” Dr. Leland was wiping off her desk. “You’re excited. I get it, I was excited too once. But you did not cure Poison Ivy in two months.”  
Harley shrugged, sitting down in the leather chair across from her boss. “I didn’t say I cured her, I said she should be considered legally sane. Meaning if she murders somebody again, she is fit to stand trial.”

Joan sat back, pondering Dr. Quinzel’s assertion. Her question, when it finally came, was simple. “How?”

“Pamela Isley is a competitive woman. She wanted to play a game with us just like The Joker does. She’s bored and way too smart for her own good. So instead of simply recognizing the game and telling her not to play it, I stepped into the arena and I beat her, maybe not fair and square, but certainly ‘plain and simple.’”

Leland arched her brow. “And you expect that Ivy will see it the same way?”

“Well it will take some time.” Harleen told her. “We just have to make sure and keep her occupied. She needs to have a job. Something that she can take pride in. Something that proves she is making a difference. She’s a narcissist, Joan. She needs a pat on the back and something she can slap her name onto.”

“Do you have something in mind?” Joan asked.

Dr. Quinzel grinned. “I just might.”

/

Harley confidently approached Ivy’s cell, but her sure-gait faltered slightly when she saw Pam standing right up against the glass, the darkest shade of green Harley had ever seen her.

“Oh would you stop it?” Harley slapped the glass door but Ivy didn’t flinch.

“I’m going to kill you.” Poison Ivy growled.

“No, you’re not.” Dr. Quinzel’s seemed self-assured. “I have a proposition for you, one that I need you to keep an open mind about.”

Ivy’s eyes blazed acid green. “Harley, don’t you realize I hate your guts?”

“Well, gee, yeah!” Harley chuckled. “But you’re still my best friend! And I figured despite everything, I was your best friend too! That’s right, ain’t it, Red?”

Goosebumps spread on Ivy’s skin as she stared at the girl, alarmed at what had just come out of her mouth. “Who are you right now?” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m me.” The blonde grinned. “Harleen Quinzel, just like you said.”

“You weren’t playing me the whole time.” Ivy assured herself. “You’re not smart enough for that.”

“No.” Harley sighed. “But you are. All I had to do was watch.”

Ivy narrowed her gaze. “Explain.”

“Well for one…” Harley began pacing back and forth in front of the cell. “Your seduction routine is different with women than it is men. With men it’s all about the physical. I’ve seen it. I’ve watched all your interrogation tapes. You complement the man to make him feel good and then you present your body for-“ her voice dropped into her Ivy impression- “his viewing pleasure.” The doctor giggled at her own joke. “But with women…you present an emotional avenue as well. Because women are emotional creatures, right?” Harley glanced at the cell to make sure she still had a captive audience. “That stuff you said at the beginning, when you first analyzed me…I thought you were just playing my game, trying to prove you could beat me at it. But then you got into your ideas of my sexual preferences and I realized you were just doing your normal ‘pre-seduction’ research out loud. And so, having decided that I wanted a dominant partner, you assumed that role, but you augmented it for the female formula. You let me see you smile and giggle every so often, you complimented my intellect and my clothes, and then you would end it with something hurtful to make me crave the other stuff more. Now you’re right, I wasn’t playing you the whole time, but neither were you. That was the point.” She laughed. “You really did feel terrible that you dosed me with your pheromones. I really did want to kiss you that night and you could have had me under your spell in a second. But you abandoned that strategy, even though it was a winning one because you didn’t want to break me.” She turned back to face Ivy, a wide grin plastered on her face. “Even though that was incredible progress, I figured part of the reason you decided to go a different way was because chemicals would have made it too easy for you and you were terribly bored and looking for a real challenge.”

Ivy stared, soaking this all in.

“We had that incredible session on Thursday where you owned up to some of your narcissism, and surprisingly, you didn’t try to get the last word in, so I knew the other foot was going to drop. It’s all about patterns, Pam. Like you said, ‘Psychology is compounding assumptions by studying past behavior patterns.’ But again, you augmented your approach because I’m a woman. Instead of making the final act one of physical lust, you prompted something that you knew would be triggering for me and then let me unravel. You listened to me, you wiped my tears…that’s all a girl wants, Pam. And you know it.” Harley paused to catch her breath. “The problem is, while you understand how therapy works, you don’t understand why it works. And that’s OK, your hybrid physiology did take away some of your emotional functioning, or at least made it harder to access. Therapy is just a safe space to talk about your problems. And you did talk about them and you let me talk about mine too. You can say it was solely for research purposes, but I also think…maybe…you were really interested in how I got here. In why I am the way I am. Do you know who wonders those sorts of things, Pam? Humans. Humans do. And I think, Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, PhD., that you are just as lovely a human being as you are a flower.” Harley pretended to tip her cap to signal the end of her lengthy strategy explanation.

Poison Ivy looked the girl straight in the eye, drinking in every little movement. Mulling the words over in her head, studying every detail. “OK.” She began, finally. “You win.”  
Harley clapped her hands like a child who’d just won a prize.  
“Two things, though.” Ivy crossed her arms. “One: I don’t have pheromones that work on women. And two: I think you really did murder your coach.”


	27. 27

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid.” Harleen walked her hands over backwards on the balance beam, kicking her legs over her head and landing with her right foot and then her left.

“So she didn’t actually give ya the sex perfume. Who cares?”

‘I care!’ Harleen repeated the move, planting herself at the far end of the beam. ‘It means I was impaired by actual physical attraction.’

“So what? She’s hot, you’d have ta be blind not ta wanna get in’er pants!”

‘Get in her pants?’ Harleen cartwheeled. ‘What are you, twelve?’

“Physical attraction?” Harley mocked. “Are you 70?”

Harleen rolled her eyes and dropped her hands to the beam, pushing herself up into a hand stand.

“The pheromone thing is the least of our problems anyway, now your girlfriend knows ya killed Coach.”

‘Oh and whose fault is that?!’ Harleen spread her legs in the air and walked a few feet on her hands before bringing her toes to a point again.

“Yours! You’re the one who had ta go all Good Will Hunting.”

‘And I wonder why.” Harleen’s words dripped with sarcasm as she returned her feet to the beam.

“Hey, Harl?”

‘What?’ Harleen asked, pausing her routine for a moment.

“It’s not your fault.”

‘Shut up.’ Harleen went from a cartwheel to a backflip.

“It’s not your fault.”

Harleen pumped her fist into the air in celebration of her difficult skill. Maybe if she just ignored Harley, she would go away.

“It’s not your fault.” Harley repeated.

Harleen couldn’t take it anymore. ‘You’re not even clever! You’re just…’ Her mind went silent.

“I’m just…? What? Doan leave me hangin’, Harl.”

‘Batman.’

Harley cackled. “I ain’t even a real person. I’m just an excuse for ya to do weird stuff.”

‘No.’ Harleen said, starring out her door at the terrace. ‘Batman is here.’

/

Ivy felt so stupid. So unbelievably stupid. She had her in the palm of her hand. She should have crushed her right then and there. She should have kissed her, that would have been the end of it. Dr. Quinzel would have handed her the keys to Arkham and she could have been out of there. Gone, done. Somewhere hidden away in the Amazon rainforest by now. OK, well, logistically she would have probably been on a plane, actually. She would need to stop by one of her hideouts and…Oh it doesn’t matter. The point is she was still stuck in a cell and she was fairly certain the only way her psychiatrist would be letting her out was through official channels.

Harley thought Ivy was sane. But what does she know? She might be a psychiatrist, but look at Crane and Strange! They started out as psychiatrists and look at them now, hardly the poster children for mental health and stability. Sure, Ivy “liked” Harley. She liked her about as much as she could like a human, but that really wasn’t saying much. She was a distraction from boredom while Ivy was locked up. That’s all it was. True, she was prettier than most of Ivy’s other toys, but at the end of the day that’s what she was. Harley was the puppet and Ivy was the puppet master. Only, somewhere along the line, Harley got it into her mind that she was a real boy. Or real girl, but that sort of ruins the whole Pinocchio idea. Pamela read Pinocchio as a child but was, unfortunately, disallowed from seeing the movie by her parents. Not that she had held onto that grudge for 57 years or anything. That would be ridiculous and petty. Poison Ivy was not petty.

“Lights out in five, Isley.”

Ivy suddenly became aware of the outside world again. “Clarence.” She sighed, stopping the guard as he passed her cell. “Can you come closer to my cell so that I can secrete pheromones to seduce you, and then could you kindly let me out of this cell?”

The guard’s face contorted with confusion. “What?”

“Come closer,” Ivy said slower, like she was talking to a child. “So that I can pretend like I’m interested in you sexually.”

Clarence looked around, thinking this must be some sort of prank. “No, Ivy. I’m not going to just let you seduce me.”

“It would be mutually beneficial. You would get to think for a second that I would ever fuck you, and I get to go home free. See? Win, win.” Ivy halfheartedly presented her argument.

Clarence’s brow furrowed. “Umm…No.”

Ivy sighed. “I could unbutton my shirt a bit if you’d like.” She saw he was still unconvinced. “I’m going to level with you here." She tried again. "I’m tired. I want to see the sun and my plants and I want to get back to my lab. I just don’t feel quite like myself at the moment and it’s beginning to frustrate me. I do not like to be frustrated. So…pretty please, with sugar on top, will you let me kiss you so I can leave?”

Clarence narrowed his eyes, sure that this was another one of her mind games, but also unsure of her angle. “Good night, Pamela.” He turned on a dime and quickly moved away from her.

“It’s Dr. Isley!” She called down the hall after him.


	28. 28

Poison Ivy woke up with an idea. A complicated idea, but an effective one none-the-less. Ivy was known to rise with the sun in the mornings, meaning she was usually the first one awake during her ‘visits’ to Arkham. Today, that would work to her advantage.

Ivy sat cross-legged on her cot and pressed her back against the wall, concentrating hard. She was a little rusty, but with some focus, she was confident that she could get the job done. Ivy searched the city, listening best she could for directions. Finally, she arrived to find the brunette fast asleep on her unduly large, silk-sheeted bed.

“Good morning.” Ivy purred.  
  
The sleeping woman’s body stiffened. ‘ _Say what you will about Selina Kyle_ ,’ Ivy thought, ‘ _but that woman truly did have the reflexes of a cat_.’

“What the FUCK do YOU want?” The brunette growled, her face still pressed into her plush pillow.

Ivy found Ms. Kyle’s reaction a bit odd. “You don’t even know who it is.”

“Of course I do.” Selina grumbled. “I hear that voice in my nightmares.”

Ivy snickered. “You say nightmares; I say fantasies…”

“Ivy, it is way too early for the seduction routine, alright? My stomach can’t handle it at this hour.”

“Oh, that’s just as well.” Ivy replied wistfully. “I’m not sure you’d be able to handle me anyway.”

“FUCK YOU.” Selina finally turned around to face the voice, but quickly scrambled up to her headboard, alarmed at the crude likeness of Ivy’s face shaped in the leaves and branches of her bedside bonsai tree.

“Ivy” rolled her eyes. “If you didn’t want me popping in for a visit every once and a while you shouldn’t have put a plant in your home.”

“Oh so that’s it?” The brunette asked. “You just have a patent on all things plants?”

Ivy shrugged. “More or less.”

“Ugh.” Selina crossed her arms in a huff. “Alright, what do you want? We’re not friends, so spit it the fuck out before I throw that bonsai out the window.”

“Your language…so crass.” Ivy tsked.

Annoyed, Selina made a move towards the tree.

“OK, Ok.” Ivy stopped her. “I need a favor.”

“Ha!” the brunette cried. “Fat chance.”

“I will be collecting on your debt one way or the other, Cat.” Ivy warned. “I am offering you a chance to cooperate.”

A look of pure hatred filled Catwoman’s chartreuse-green eyes. “What do you want?” She asked through gritted teeth.

“Oh don’t be cross.” Ivy glared at the woman. “You’ll get to wear one of your silly disguises. I know you fancy yourself a grifter.”

“I am a fantastic grifter.” Selina uncrossed her arms. “But I’m wearing the red wig.”

“You most certainly are not!” Ivy’s tone was stern. “You do not have the bone structure for it. It is a slap in the face of natural red heads everywhere.”

“You are probably the most insufferable person I’ve ever met.” Catwoman told her.

“Do you see me parading around as a little butch brunette?” Ivy asked. “I think not. That’s your thing. Leave me mine, and wear the blonde one.”

“I am not butch.” Selina stated firmly.

“Fine.” Ivy rolled her eyes. “Athletic with a pixie cut. Happy? Now please go get something to write with. The specifics are important here.”

/

Two hours later Ivy was still sitting on her cot but was now stroking her potted fern, watching out the glass door of her cell. She knew Harleen would be coming by any minute now. They had been meeting for two sessions every day, not including their lunch meetings. It occurred to Ivy that she must now officially be the only patient Dr. Quinzel had. This pleased Ivy, but she had been wondering where The Joker had gone. She would have known if he’d escaped. There would have been an alarm and a lockdown, so she assumed he had been moved back to solitary confinement.

Harleen was a bit late that day and was not alone when she arrived. Batman stood at her side in front of Ivy’s cell.

“Oh for fuck’s sakes, Harleen. What does he want?” Ivy asked crudely. Selina appeared to have rubbed off on her.

“His name is Batman, and he can talk too. Address him directly, please.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Ivy spat at him without hesitation. She could tell Harley had wanted that to mean a bit more, but she and Batman had history that most simply wouldn’t understand. Ivy did acknowledge, however, that it was a bit strange seeing him in full costume in the light of day. Even with all the costumed villains in the city who never changed out of their colorful ensembles, Batman’s cowl and utility belt looked odd without the help of shadows.

“Dr. Quinzel has informed me she will be filing an appeal to declare you sane.” Batman’s voice was the same night or day- gravely and masculine.

“That is what she said.” Ivy smirked up at him. “But you don’t really believe that, do you?” She pushed herself off the bed in a fluid motion, slowly approaching the glass. “I’m just as naughty as ever…”

“Drop it, Isley.” The Bat growled.

“Yeah.” Harley echoed, her cheeks flushed. “Knock it off. Look, OK, I promise this is going to be worth your while.” The blonde held a packet of stapled paper up to the glass.

“What is it?” Ivy asked.

“It’s a contract.” Batman answered.

Harley nodded, her blush now replaced with a proud smile. “It’s about your terms of release.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes at The Bat. “You’re helping her release me?”

The Dark Knight nodded. “So long as you adhere to the conditions stated in the contract.”

Ivy waved her hand dismissively, turning back to her cot. “Leave it here. I’ll look it over, but I’m not making any promises.”

“Batman didn’t come all the way up here just so you could read it later. We spent all night on this.” Harley scolded her.

“All night?” Ivy asked, the familiar feeling of jealousy taking root in the pit of her stomach.

“That’s right.” The Bat told her. “And I think you’ll find the terms quite agreeable.”

Dr. Quinzel pushed the stack of papers through the food slot. “We’ll wait.”


	29. 29

“Excuse me,” the blonde said to the woman at the front desk. “I’m looking for a Detective Montoya?”

“Do you have an appointment?” The secretary asked.

The blonde shook her head. “I was told she was handling Coach Aristov’s case.”

“I see.” The secretary nodded. “I’ll check if she’s in.”

“I am.” Montoya’s voice came from behind the blonde who turned around to greet her. “Renee Montoya. You are…?”

“Irena. Pleasure.” The women offered her hand to the detective who shook it.

“Well, Irena, how about you come back to my office. You were asking about the Aristov case?”

They made their way down the hallway and into a stuffy office with two desk crammed uncomfortably close in the small space. One desk was noticeably neater as opposed to the other which was strewn with files and loose papers. Montoya sat down at the tidier one.

“So how did you know Aristov?” The detective asked.

“Well I don’t, not really anyway.” The blonde told her apologetically.

Montoya sighed. “Damn. We’re at a bit of a standstill with that one. If it’s information you want, there’s not much I can give. I’m sorry.”

“I mean that I know of him.” The woman explained. “My daughter is a gymnast, you see. We recently moved to Gotham and were scoping out a possible coach for her…”

“And that’s when you met him?” Montoya asked.

“No.” The blonde shook her head. “I never met him. I had an appointment set up, but certain…unsavory allegations were brought to our attention and we just didn’t feel comfortable.”

Montoya furrowed her brow. “What sort of allegations?”

“Well…” the woman’s almost unnaturally blue eyes looked around the room quickly. “We heard that he might…occasionally act…inappropriately towards the girls.”

“Huh…” Montoya nodded slowly. “Well that would certainly give someone motive. Who told you that?”

The blonde shrugged. “I’m sorry. It was just mom gossip, but it seemed to be the general consensus.”

“We interviewed multiple parents and never heard about anything like that.”

The woman shrugged again. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I just thought if there was even a chance I could help…”

“No, you know what?” Montoya stood up. “Thank you. Really, we appreciate any tips with this one. We’ll check it out.”

The blonde nodded and took a business card before being shown out of the station.

“What was that about?” Detective Bullock asked once Montoya returned to their shared office.

“Let’s go back through the history.” Montoya said, stripping her jacket off and laying it on the back of her chair.

Bullock grumbled. “What are we looking for?”

“Sexual abuse.”

/

Poison Ivy flipped through the contract for the 8th time. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” Dr. Quinzel grinned. “You just have to behave yourself.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes, looking from Harleen to Batman and back to Harleen again and then back at the paper, which she appeared to be reading even slower now.

“Jesus, Isley!” Harley threw her arms up, startling Batman. “I thought you were a genius or whatever. This is an easy decision. Swallow your pride and sign on the dotted line.”  
Batman’s body tensed more during her last line then when she had startled him. He was now watching Ivy was visible unease.

The villainess stared at him like she was looking down the barrel of a gun. “What changed your mind?”

“My mind didn’t need changing, Ivy. It needed convincing.” He told her.

“Well what convinced you, then?” She folded the contract and placed it on her lap, giving his answer her full attention.

He smirked. “I read a thesis published by a young woman named Pamela Isley. She made some intelligent and very rational points.” He stretched the ‘rational’ for emphasis.

“You’re really strong, Pam. But even you have to admit that the combined efforts of you, Batman and the rest of those meta-whatevers would be way more effective than you taking on the cause alone.” Harley told her. “So you have a decision to make. What’s more important? You or the plants.” She watched as Ivy’s eyes filled up with tears, focusing the intensity of their colors.

Batman cleared his throat uncomfortably at her show of emotion.

Dr. Quinzel stepped forward and sat down directly in front of the glass. “Imagine, Pam,” she whispered, “a team of the most powerful people on earth, fighting for your cause. You could enact real change on a global scale.” Ivy had drawn her knees to her chest. “I think I know what Pamela would do…now what about Ivy?”

“I told you,” the red head’s voice trembled. “I’m not that kind of crazy.”

Dr. Quinzel smiled kindly and placed her palm on the glass. “Exactly. Let’s pretend…just for a minute…that Jason Woodrue never happened. That Pamela got an education, and that’s it. And so here you are, looking at this incredible opportunity you’ve been given to actually help save the word, and when you read it…your first feeling isn’t anger. It’s excitement. You don’t think about Jason Woodrue because you don’t have to. So what’s it going to be, Pamela? Poison Ivy, or planet earth?”

Harleen’s eyes grew wide as she watched Ivy’s fern sliver out of its pot behind her. Batman went for his utility belt but Harley stopped him by placing a gentle hand on his forearm without taking her eyes off the animalistic fern.

It saddled up beside Pamela, wrapping its fronds around her waist and shoulders. She let the tears fall now as she nuzzled against her pet. They stayed like that for a moment, intertwined, before the woman reached for the pen and uncapped it. “I shouldn’t be this hard…” She whispered.

“Yes it should, Pam.” Harley’s voice was soft. “The woman you became saved you just as much as the plants did. You’re just saying a proper thank you. All you have to give up in return is your anger. That’s it.”

Ivy, at long last, touched pen to paper and signed her name “Pamela Lillian Isley, PhD” on the dotted line. After starring at the ink as it dried on the paper for a moment, slid it back through the food slot in the door. “What happens if I don’t keep my word?”

Batman was rolling the paper back up. “You have been declared legally sane, Dr. Isley. If you break this contract you will be sent to a real prison where there are no second chances. And I doubt they would let you keep a plant in your cell.”


	30. 30

Ivy rolled her eyes as her call went to voicemail.

“If you have this number you must be incredibly important.” Selina’s automated voice message drawled. “An important person like you should know not to leave a voicemail because they’re super fucking annoying. Clearly I had a reason for not answering the phone so hang up right now and I’ll call you back when I feel like it.”

Ivy slammed the phone back onto the hook and immediately picked it up again, redialing the number.

Selina answered after 5 rings this time. “What?!”

“It’s me.” Ivy glanced around Dr. Quinzel’s office to make sure no one was within earshot. Harleen had thankfully allowed her some privacy.

“Is this call being recorded?” Catwoman asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah! Just don’t say anything too specific you imbecile.”

“Wow.” Selina tried to act like she was hurt by the name calling. “So that’s how you treat friends who do you favors…”

Ivy heard Selina pull her face away from the phone and whisper something with a giggle. “Who are you with?” Ivy’s heart began to race.

“Just a friend…” Catwoman purred.

Ivy moved immediately from fear to frustration. “Did you ignore my call because you were with a man?”

Ivy could almost hear Selina’s eye roll on the other end of the line. “Oh sue me for taking care of myself. Some of us have to work for sex, you know. We can’t just spray people with fertilizer.”

“Pheromones.” Ivy corrected her.

“So what do you want?” Selina asked impatiently. “Talking to you twice in one day has literally shaved two lives off of my allotted nine.”

“Oh, good.” Ivy’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “She’s doing cat puns again. Who doesn’t love those?”

“I hate you, Pamela. I really, really do. I did your little favor. They said they’d look into it.”

“Good.” Ivy brightened up. “I need two more favors.”

“Hold on…” Selina said. “Let me think…how about, umm…no? We are even. I’m done.”

Pamela chuckled. “We’re hardly ‘even.’ But I will make it worth your while.”

“Mmm…how so?” Catwoman was intrigued.

“For one, I won’t fuck Batman. I won’t even try to.”

Catwoman scoffed. “Oh like I care.”

Ivy pressed her lips to the phone’s receiver. “Careful, Kitty. I’ve been locked up in here for a long time. My garden needs tending. I’ve always liked the look of Batman’s…equipment.”

“Ugh, gross!” Selina spat with disgust. “OK, yes, please don’t…just…bleh!”

“Could use some watering too…tell me, pussy cat, do you ever let him water your pretty kitty?”

“Shut the fuck up, Ivy. I’m dead serious. I accept that term, but I’m going to need something else too.”

“I know.” Ivy said. “How about something shiny? Something like…the Harlequin Diamond?”

“You bitch!” Catwoman was clearly upset. “I knew you took it. I planned that heist for a month. You don’t even care about diamonds! Oh my god, did you steal it just so you could hold it over my head one day?”

Ivy smirked. “Looks like you’re finally getting it.”

Selina sighed. “Fine. What do you need.”

“Well a ride first.” Ivy told her. “And I’ll fill you in on part two on the way back into the city.”

“Oh hell no.” Selina told her. “I am not breaking you out of Arkham. I am nobody’s getaway driver.”

Ivy screwed her eyes shut. She would be swallowing pride for the rest of her life, she better learn to get used to it. “They’re letting me out.”

“What?” Selina asked like she had misheard her.

“I’m sane now, evidently. So…come get me.”

“When?”

“Now. Tell your boy-toy he’ll need to pick-up some antibiotics for his newly acquired chlamydia and then come and get me.”  
The conversation ended there when Selina smashed the phone down.

Harleen came back into the room. “I thought you didn’t have any friends.” The blonde’s hands were clasped behind her back.

“I don’t.” Ivy told her curtly.

“Oh, then who is picking you up?”

Ivy glanced back at the telephone. “I don’t know. Certainly not a friend.”

“So then you don’t have a ride?” Ivy thought she saw a glimmer of hope in the girl’s eyes. “Because I could give you a ride.”

Pamela shook her head. “I have someone coming to get me, I just wouldn’t exactly call them a friend.”

“Oh.” Harley said, bowing her head slightly. “Who…umm…who is it?”

“A woman I know.” Ivy told her, leaning back against the wall.

“How do you know her?” Harley was trying to seem “cool” with her tone, but it was coming off unbearably awkward.

Ivy couldn’t tell if Dr. Quinzel was trying to figure out if her ride was a criminal or if her ride had once been more than a friend. Whatever she was doing, it was coming off very “dad in an afterschool special.” “Her name is Selina Kyle.” Ivy answered honestly. “We have done business together on more than one occasion.”

“Selina Kyle…the billionaire Bruce Wayne’s friend?” Harley bit her lip.

“The very same.” Ivy told her. She hadn’t meant it to be a name drop. She just wanted to assure Harley that Selina was of no threat to…whatever they had. But it fleetingly crossed her mind that a good portion of the population probably found Selina Kyle attractive. “She’s the worst.” Ivy offered.

Harleen giggled. “You know Selina Kyle’s phone number by heart?”  
“Unfortunately…” Ivy smiled. “Yes, yes I do.”

/

“Got anything?” Montoya asked Detective Bullock as he strolled back into their office.

“Yep.” He sat down in a heap on his chair, slightly out of breath.

Montoya raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Well?”

“Well…” Bullock began, leaning backwards and wiping the sweat off of his brow. “Evidently, there was a bit of a scandal involving one Mr. Grigory Aristov.”

“Why wasn’t it in his file?” Montoya asked.

“Because the girl didn’t ever file a complaint and the Olympic Committee tried to bury it.” The detective explained.

Montoya was confused. “Why would they want to do that?”

Bullock shrugged. “He was a good coach, evidently. A lot of his girls went on to do big things in the sport.

“Bastards.” Montoya cursed.

“Yeah, well…from what I heard, this scandal wasn’t a rape, it was an affair.”

Montoya scoffed. “How old was the girl.”

“15.” Bullock told her.

Montoya chucked. “That’s not an affair, that’s statutory rape.”  
  
Bullock was grinning. “How about we ask the girl?”

“You already tracked her down?” Montoya was impressed. Usually Det. Bullock’s investigations moved at a glacial pace.

“Wasn’t too hard.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded picture. “Tell me, does this look like anyone you know?”

Montoya took the photograph and unfolded it. The girl had big blue eyes and was wearing her blonde hair up in pig tails.

“Last name Quinzel.” Bullock told her. “Kinda like that pretty doctor we met the other day at the athletic store. Harleen Quinzel, currently employed at Arkham Asylum. She was buying a leotard, right?”


	31. 31

Dr. Quinzel and Dr. Leland stood with an unrestrained Ivy outside of Arkham Asylum watching a sleek, black 1997 Porsche Carrera speed up the driveway with little regard for the holes in the pavement. While Harley’s mustang was her prized possession, she was sure Selina Kyle could easily afford another Porsche.

Harley shifted her gaze to Ivy, who was holding her cactus and her fern and wearing the outfit Harley purchased her the day they watched the movie. Aside from the green skin, the woman looked altogether normal. The doctor felt a momentary pang of sadness. She may have helped this woman, but in the process she had also clipped her wings. Her shoulders looked heavier in the green t-shirt and an image of the young Pamela Isley flashed before her eyes. That sheepish grin, the slightly bowed posture. The transition from glamorous villainess to semi-regular woman had been a bitter sweet one for Harley to witness. Then again, Harley hadn’t taken away her power, she’d just repurposed it, and that was going to benefit everyone. You can be a sexy hero too; it wasn’t like the bad guys had a patent on that.

The Porsche screeched to halt in front of them and Harley saw Pam roll her eyes. Harley couldn’t help but smile. Dr. Quinzel wasn’t jealous, it’s just…this Pamela was her creation and she wanted credit for it. She’d spent two months being mentally abused by Poison Ivy just to hand over the finished product to Selina Kyle? That didn’t seem fair.

Ivy was shaking hands with Dr. Leland now.

“Thank you for what you’re doing.” Leland told her, which seemed to surprise Ivy. She nodded at the woman and moved on to Harley who, without a moment’s hesitation, went in for a hug.

Ivy stopped the blonde’s forward momentum by sticking her hand out to be shaken. Embarrassed, Harley blushed the color of Pamela’s hair and awkwardly took the older woman’s hand. It was the first time Harley noticed that Ivy was shorter than she was, a good three inches shorter, in fact.

The Porsche’s horn blared and Ivy cringed, mumbling something rather unsavory about the woman in the driver’s seat.

“I guess that’s your cue.” Harley smiled.

Ivy nodded and headed quickly for the car without a verbal response.

Harley followed behind her. “You’ve coordinated your living arrangements with Batman?”

Again, Ivy offered a silent nod and then slipped into the passenger seat. The driver’s side window rolled down revealing the chicest woman Harley had ever seen in person. Her short, jet-black hair was styled to make it look like she had just been in the coolest hurricane ever. She was wearing a black leather jacket over top of a leopard-print blouse that tied around her neck like an ascot. She removed her aviator style sunglasses, flashing a pair of cat-like green eyes.

“I’m Selina. You must be Mrs. Isley.” She addressed Harley with a raspier voice than Pamela’s. “Mr. Isley!” She waved out the window at Dr. Leland. “I’ll have Pammy back before curfew. And don’t you worry, I’ll treat her like a lady.”

…and, Harley hated her. She was delighted when Ivy delivered a swift punch to the woman’s arm.

“What?” Selina asked defensively.

“Don’t insult the help, dear.” Ivy smirked.

That comment hurt Harley more than she cared to admit. The smile melted from her face and her words came out sour. “We will have daily check-ins in addition to your meetings with Batman. Is that understood, Isley?”

“Ooh…Isley.” Selina feigned concern. “She used your last name, that must mean you really are in trouble.”

“No.” Ivy chuckled. “She’d use my middle name if that were the case.”

“I’m serious, Pamela.” Harley told her. “As your doctor, I require a daily check-in until I decide that you are actually fully committed to your recovery.”

“Doctor?” Selina laughed. “What are you, Doogie Houser?”

Harley didn’t hold back her glare, but Selina still refused to take her seriously. “She’s very cute, Pammy. Really. We should take her home. Do you think there’s room in the trunk?”

Ivy giggled. “Goodbye, Dr. Quinzel. As always, I look forward to our next meeting.” She winked, and before Harley could respond, they were speeding down the road once more.

/

As a precaution, Ivy waited until she had lost sight of Arkham out the back window before speaking.

“Jesus, Cat, why don’t you antagonize my psychiatrist a little more.” She punched Selina in the same arm.

“Ow, hey! That hurt the first time too.”

“Good! I’m trying to make a point.” Ivy spat. “She’s the one that signed my release papers.”

“OK, sorry. My bad. Her eagerness was just bugging the shit out of me. She looked like she wanted to kiss you on the fucking mouth when your guys were saying your goodbyes.”

“And that took some time to cultivate.” Ivy told her. “Also, could you please tone down the profanity?”

“Blondie got you on a short leash?” Catwoman arched an eyebrow.

“I’m not on anyone’s leash.” Ivy caviled.

Selina giggled. “Except for Batman’s, right?”

“Tell me, Cat.” Ivy purred, turning to her. “Does he use leashes in the bedroom? He always struck me as the kinky type. We already know he likes the whip.”

Now it was Selina’s turn to slap Ivy. “I thought we agreed he was off limits.”

“You brought him into play!” Ivy argued.

“Alright,” Selina changed the subject, refusing to look her passenger in the face. “I picked you up. What’s part two?”

Ivy grinned. “A grand romantic gesture.”

Catwoman wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“Oh, why don’t you go fuck a bat, Selina?”


	32. 32

Montoya tapped her fingernails on the desk as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Joan Leland answered.

“Dr. Leland, hello, this is Det. Renee Montoya of the GCPD.”

The doctor sighed. “I hope this isn’t about Poison Ivy.”

“What? No, it’s not about a patient at all, actually.” Montoya told her. “I’m wondering if you have a resume on file for one Ms. Harleen Quinzel.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Joan sounded relieved. “She’s one of my doctor’s.”

“Would you mind faxing it over?” Montoya asked.

“Sure. Are you looking for an expert to testify? I know Babydoll’s trial is coming up.”

“Oh, no ma’am. We just had a run in with her in conjunction with another case and thought we should know a little more about her.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but was still definitely in the realm of gray area.

“Umm…sure.” Dr. Leland wasn’t quite sold. “I’ll get someone to fax it over right away.”

“Great. Thank you so much.” Montoya smiled. “Oh, and Dr. Leland? You don’t have to answer, but you mentioned Poison Ivy and I was just wondering…did Dr. Quinzel ever try to make her wear a blue leotard?”

Joan laughed. “Did Isley make a complain?”

“No, ma’am.” Montoya assured her. “I was just wondering.”

“A blue leotard? No. Ivy makes those leotards out of leaves from her own body. She can’t make blue. And no, Dr. Quinzel would never make her wear something different. That’s an issue of bodily autonomy. She could request that she did if it was making the other patients uncomfortable, but she couldn’t force it on her.”

“And did she?” Montoya asked. “Ask her to wear something different?”

“Hmm…” Leland thought for a moment. “Well she never discussed that strategy with me, although I could see the benefit of it…But Harleen is her own doctor and the oath of doctor/patient confidentiality is a sacred one. So unless she’s doing something unethical, it’s really none of my business.”

“Of course.” Montoya was nodding even though Dr. Leland couldn’t see her. “Well, anyway, thank you for faxing that over.”

“No problem, Detective.” The line went dead.

Montoya set the phone down and sat up at her desk. “Any chance we’ve got a witness?”

Bullock, who was sitting in his chair eating a donut, shook his head. “No, but we got that partial print.”

“It’s a partial of a partial, Bullock. It’s not going to tell us anything.” Montoya sighed. “The killer cleaned up exceptionally well.”

The male detective finished his donut. “Why do you think they left the hammer.”

Montoya shrugged. “We determined it belonged to the victim, so it’s not like we were gonna find them buying it on a security camera.”

“Still…” Bullock wiped his mouth. “That’s a little cocky, don’t ya think? For a crime of passion, they sure knew what would and wouldn’t be incriminating.”

Montoya bit her nails as she thought. “A criminal psychiatrist would probably be required to take a few criminology courses…”

“So whadda we got? Motive, method…what about means?” Bullock asked.

“Well…blunt force trauma.” Montoya was thinking again. “How much do you think Dr. Quinzel weighs?”  
Bullock shrugged. “120lbs? I don’t know. She was in a jacket that day we saw her.”

“She was pretty tall, though.” Montoya said. “About the same height as me, so 5’9” maybe?”

“With heels on, yeah.”

Montoya narrowed her eyes. “How do you know she was wearing heels?”

Bullock got defensive. “I’m a detective!” He paused. “And they made her legs look nice.”

Montoya rolled her eyes. “Fine. 5’7” then. Do you think she could inflict that kind of damage?” Montoya replaced her nails with her pen and chewed absentmindedly.  
“Hows about we ask the coroner?”

/

Ivy and Catwoman rode the elevator up to the brunette’s not-so-humble abode.

“OK,” Selina started as the doors opened. “Can you just explain the whole thing to me? Start to finish?” She stripped off her leather jacket and hung it on the coatrack by the door.

Ivy had only been to Catwoman’s loft once before, and all she could really remember about it was that it was weird. For one, it was entirely too large for a woman living alone…well…a woman living alone with about 10 cats. The furnishings weren’t modern in the way that some might expect them to be. Selina Kyle was always up on the latest fashion trends and bought at least one brand new car every year, but her loft looked like it could have been decorated by her grandmother. Black and gold seemed to be the central colors. There were large, Victorian era paintings on the wall framed with thick golden wood. Hard wood floors as well, but most of it was covered with intricately designed rugs. It looked more like an unconventional art gallery than someone’s home with all the short pillars displaying cat statues and rare jewels.  
A gray cat scampered past Ivy’s feet, causing her to jump back.

“Oh hello my little baby.” Selina cooed. “My little muffin. Look at you. So handsome. Sorry mommy was gone for so long, she had to pick up some crazy bitch she knows from an insane asylum.”

The cat lovingly rubbed itself on the brunette’s leg.

Ivy made a gagging sound and headed off in search of Catwoman’s closet. The only thing she hated more than the woman herself was the fact that she slept on a round bed. Who does that? Seriously? Ivy moved past the bed and into the walk-in closet. Selina followed and shut the doors behind them.

The brunette crossed her arms. “From the beginning.”

Ivy sighed. “Dr. Leland passed me off to a new psychiatrist this time around. A brand new one. Fresh out of medical school, I met her on her first day.”

Selina arched an eyebrow. “Cradle robbing, are we?”

“Does it make more sense for me to be dating other 64 year olds?” Ivy asked bitterly.

Catwoman thought for a second, knitting her brow. “No.” She admitted. “Carry on.”

“Thank you.” Ivy continued. “Anyway, this psychiatrist, the one you referred to as Doogie Houser, was actually rather smart and caring…”

“Poor kid.” Selina interrupted. “She actually tried to help you, didn’t she?”

Ivy’s cheeks flushed. “You know what? Maybe she did.” She hissed.

Catwoman didn’t look convinced. “Keep talking.”

“She reminds me of myself a little…”

Selina interrupted again, this time with a laugh. “I’m just going to assume you were a horrible person before you were Ivy as well.”

The redhead mulled that over for a moment. “Depends on who you ask.”

“OK.” Selina was growing impatient. She wanted Pam to get to the end of the story she’d barely started. “So you guys have some kinky mind game shit going on, I’m guessing. Great. Can we move on to the gymnastics tip you made me give to the cops?”

Ivy sighed. “According to Dr. Quinzel, the game we were playing ‘messed with her head’ to a degree where she now hears the voice of her younger self in her mind having completely autonomous thoughts.”

Selina couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Way to go, Pam. You drove your psychiatrist to insanity. That’s impressive, even for you.”

“Shut up.” Ivy told her. “In what I’m assuming was an attempt to get rid of the voice, she murdered her former gymnastics coach.”

“Wait, what?” That got Selina’s attention.

Ivy nodded. “They had, at one time, participated in some form of a sexual relationship. She was 15, he was married…just a horrible recipe.”  
Selina’s expression was somewhere between sympathetic and afraid. “Damn, Doogie…wait, so then why did you have me place the tip about the sex abuse?”

“To guide the investigation her direction.” Ivy smiled. “Like I said, a grand romantic gesture.”

Catwoman was just getting more confused. “I don’t understand.”

Ivy rolled her eyes at the woman’s evident stupidity. “She manipulated my feelings for her in an attempt to win our game, and after she did, she ran to Batman and had me declared legally sane.”

“…and that’s a bad thing?”

Ivy sighed. “No, on the chess board it’s what’s called a ‘check’. She thinks she won, and that simply will not do.”

“OK…” Selina nodded slowly. “So then why do we need to go to the police station today.”

“To clear her of all charges, of course!” Ivy answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Let me get this straight.” Catwoman furrowed her brow. “You’re going to trick this girl into thinking that you were willing to sacrifice your freedom to save her…when, in fact, you were the one that set her up in the first place?”

Poison Ivy clapped her hands in a patronizing rhythm. “Very good, Kitty. Now let’s find me a costume and get out of here. Being trapped in this closet is starting to become an uncomfortable metaphor for you.”

“I am not…UGH!” Selina huffed, unable to even finish her retort the red head was so infuriating.


	33. 33

Detective Bullock was beginning to wish he hadn’t eaten that last donut before heading to the morgue. Cops learned to build up a stomach for these things, sure, but a misshapen skull was never a pretty sight.

Montoya was reading over the resume Dr. Leland had sent them. “It says she’s 5’7”, 135lbs. Doctor?” She addressed the coroner. “Could a woman have done this much damage?”

The coroner looked over his own file. “Well it seems that he was seated and the blood spatter was cleaned rather well, so there’s really no way of determining the height of the assailant, but I can tell you that if it was a woman who did it, she would have had to be pretty strong.”

Montoya flipped back through the file. “How about a former collegiate gymnast? This one, specifically.” She handed the doctor Harleen’s ID photo which was taken while she was wearing a tank top that showed off her impressive deltoids.

The coroner shrugged. “5’7”, 135…” he repeated. “If she’s as strong as she looks, then yeah, she probably could have done it. But don’t quote me on that. I’d hate for my guess to condemn the girl.”

/

Selina regarded the pale skinned, caramel-brunette in the passenger seat uneasily. “You look so weird.” She almost whispered.

Pamela rolled her temporarily hazel eyes. “We’re supposed to be watching the station.”

Selina’s gaze didn’t waver. “I didn’t know you could do that with your skin.”

Ivy shrugged. “Altering my appearance is like reducing the intensity of my poison- easily done with control and practice.”

“You mean ‘easily done by a practicing control freak’.” Selina chuckled at her own joke, grabbing her milkshake from the cup-holder and taking a long slurp.

Ivy glared at her, waiting for her to drop the straw from her mouth.

“What?” Selina asked. “You don’t like ice cream?”

“Not particularly, no.” Pamela told her, taking a small sip of her water. “But what I really hate is the sound you make when you drink it.”

“Oh my god!” Selina threw her hands up in exasperation. “You’re such a nag! What? Did you never drink milkshakes as a kid?”

Ivy placed her cup back in its holder. “I wasn’t allowed to have ice cream as a child. My mother worried it would make me plump.”

“OK, well…Your mom sounds like a real piece of work.” Selina told her, beginning another loud slurp.

“I thought so too.” Ivy agreed with a slight smile. “That’s why I killed her. She and my father.”

Catwoman stopped drinking and peered at the woman apprehensively. “That’s…pretty fucked up, Isley.”

Ivy shrugged. “They deserved to die.”

“Oh…well in that case…” And they had deemed this woman sane? Yeesh. Arkham’s standards must be slipping. “So we’re just going to sit here until they bring Dr. Quinn back?”

“Dr. Quinzel.” Ivy corrected. “Yes. It’s a stakeout. That’s why I brought binoculars.”

“I thought that was a joke.” Catwoman huffed.

Ivy grinned as she pulled the binoculars from under her seat and raised them to her eyes, looking in the direction of the police station.

This is the chick everyone’s always mooning over? Forbidden fruit my ass. “I thought your pheromones didn’t work on women.”

“They don’t.” Ivy replied, her attention still out the window.

“So you’re telling me this girl actually fell for your…*gag* personality?”

Ivy whipped around, dropping the binoculars to her lap. “There are plenty of people who find me charming, Ms. Kyle. Don’t be cruel.”

“Me? Cruel?” Catwoman clutched her hand to her chest. “Never!”

“Whatever, Selina.” Ivy returned her focus to the station. “You’d take it if I offered.”

“Ha!” Catwoman guffawed. “As if. The only way I’d sleep with you, Pamela Isley, is if you and Joker were the last people on earth and I just HAD to choose one of you.”

Ivy looked legitimately hurt. “How dare you! I would rock your fucking world.”

Even with the colored contacts, Selina could see Pamela’s frighteningly green eyes flickering like a toxic flame. She looked at the fuming woman incredulously. “Alright there, crazy. How about you save some of that sexual frustration for Dr. Houser. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Ivy’s tone remained intense when she asked, “Why do you keep calling her Doogie Houser?”

“You know, like the show ‘Doogie Houser, M.D.’” Selina told her.

Ivy’s eyebrows knit together, her anger giving way to confusion for a moment.

“It’s this show about a 16-year-old doctor.” Selina explained. “It’s funny cause she’s, like, young and…” It clearly wasn’t clicking for Ivy. “Oh never mind. You fucking ruined it. She was offended by it and that’s all that matters.”

Ivy wrinkled her nose in disgust and turned away from her again.

‘And today had started out so promisingly.’ Selina sighed internally. She had spent a wonderful evening and morning with an exceedingly simple minded but very good looking young man, and had planned to stakeout the new art exhibit downtown later on that day. And then…the phone call. Catwoman stared hatefully at the villainess in the passenger’s seat. She couldn’t decide what she hated more about the woman, her general awfulness or the fact that she was totally pulling off that wig. Out of all the things the day could bring, why, WHY did it bring her Poison Ivy in a hot car? Selina could literally think of nothing worse. So what if Ivy had created a serum that increased her agility? That didn’t necessarily mean she owed her anything…OK, it did…but still. The woman could not be more terrible. She felt bad for the girl, this Dr. Quin or Quinzel or whatever. Selina hadn’t been able to get the specifics out of Pamela on her deal with Batman, but whatever it was, she knew this girl was about to enter into a world of hurt.  
Selina watched the sun glint off Ivy’s face, highlighting the hollows of her cheekbones. So she was hot and smart. Who cares? A lot of people were hot and smart. Batman was hot and smart. ‘Oh no.’ Selina thought. ‘Am I the Doogie Houser of my relationship with Bruce?’ Selina panicked for a moment before calming herself down. ‘No. No I’m not. Bruce and I are equals. I think Ivy once told me we looked like brother and sister, or just the male/female versions of each other.’ She glared at Ivy again. ‘She really is the worst.’

Ivy pointed out the window. “They’re leaving. I think they’re going to get her.”


	34. 34

Harleen sat in her office staring at the wall. She was attempting to entertain herself in the hour she had before Dr. Crane’s session, but she was, by all accounts, failing horribly. Behind her still gaze was a restless mind. Her brain had been working overtime since she’d started at Arkham, plotting, scheming, participating in this battle of wills that she and Ivy had established. The woman had only been gone a few hours and Harleen already felt terribly bored. Sure, she would get to see Pamela again, but that’s who it would be- Pamela. Dr. Quinzel would miss the threat of Poison Ivy. She wondered if Ivy would change her name now that she had been forced to switch sides. “Poison Ivy” hardly sounds like a hero…but hero or villain, Poison Ivy had been around for a long time. It was its own brand at this point. In fact, “Poison Ivy” was now far more synonymous with Pamela than “Pamela Isley” was. Harley hoped she wouldn’t change it. ‘There are a lot of heroes with very stupid names’, Harley thought, ‘like Superman. I mean, come on? Could you get any more obvious? A man with superpowers is Superman, go figure. That would be like naming me Harlequin, like, duh. My name is already basically Harley Quinn.’ She found the lack of creativity with these people astonishing.

Harley wondered what Pamela was doing right now. Probably getting settled into her new home. She wasn’t sure how Batman had the means to purchase a safe house for Ivy, according to him the job didn’t come with any monetary compensation. Maybe he found her something abandoned and fixed it up. Ivy might like something like that- off the beaten path, something she could cultivate and make her own. Something with a lot of room for a garden, Harley hoped. She wondered if Batman would let Ivy keep all the rare flowers she’d stolen. They hadn’t discussed that in the contract, so either Batman didn’t care or it was a given he would be taking them away. Maybe Harley could help her replant some of them during one of their home visits. Or…Maybe Selina Kyle already had. Harley involuntarily wrinkled her nose. True, her only run-in with Ms. Kyle had been a minute-long exchange, but during that conversation she had been horrible. Self-indulgent and elitist, like Ivy but without the principals. Ugh, and the way she just oozed that waspy confidence. Harley wondered what possible business she and Ivy could have been partners in. According to the gossip pages, Selina Kyle was an art connoisseur, perhaps her interests had spread into plants. Maybe Ivy had advised her on growing methods for rare specimens. Anything can be art these days. They seemed pretty comfortable to just be business associates, though. Giggling at Harley’s expense like they were better than her somehow. And Selina hadn’t even pronounced “Doogie Howser” correctly! It was “Howser, not Houser.” And how is that even a burn? Yeah, Harley was a young doctor, so what? There were a lot of 26-year-old doctors…and yeah, it was an unfortunate coincidence that she had blonde hair and wore it in sort of a comb over style in the front, but she definitely didn’t look like a teenaged boy! OK, maybe she was taking the comparison a bit too literally.

Dr. Quinzel shoved her prop glasses back onto her face and got up, she would wait in the doctor’s lounge instead. She was starting to feel jealous, and jealousy was a stupid thing to feel about a former patient. And anyway, Pamela told her Selina was ‘the worst’. That’s ‘THE worst’, like, ever. And Pamela had met The Joker on more than one occasion. Satisfied with her rationalization, Harley drew herself up from her chair, but stopped when she heard a knock on the door. ‘Good.’ Harley thought. ‘A distraction.’  
She made her way over to the door expecting to find Dr. Leland, but was greeted with the pair of detectives she’d met at the athletic shop instead.

“Oh.” Harleen said, her surprise evident in her face. “Hello detectives.”

“Dr. Quinzel,” the female detective…Montoya, spoke up. “Would you mind coming down to the station with us? We have a few questions for you in conjunction with the murder of Grigory Aristov.”

Harleen’s throat went dry.

‘Welp.’ Harley sighed inside the doctor’s head. ‘We had a good run there, Harl.’

/

“Well…” Selina was now using the binoculars. “They let her drive her own car, so that’s something…God, a red Mustang? Really? What a bimbo.”

Ivy was applying her makeup using the mirror in the passenger seat’s visor. “She’s not a bimbo.” She told Selina, finishing the blush and moving on to her lips.

“Says you.” Selina peered through the binoculars at the blonde as she exited her vehicle. “Why is she wearing a necktie.”

“That…” Ivy dabbed at her newly applied lipstick. “I couldn’t tell you.”

Catwoman looked over at her passenger and rolled her eyes. “Who cares what you actually look like, you’re bringing the pheromones, right?”

“It’s all part of the show, Kitty. I’m already working at a deficit with this silly wig.” She looked herself over thoroughly in the mirror.

“You look fine, Ivy. Don’t we have time constraints on this thing?”

“Yes, we do.” Ivy affirmed, closing the visor. “So pull on that mass of latex you call a suit and let’s go. Selina doesn’t do me jack shit moving forward. I need Catwoman.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Selina crawled into the dysfunctionally small backseat. “Don’t look.”

Ivy made no qualms about disobeying her request.

“Hey!” Selina slammed the rear-view mirror out of place so Ivy could no longer use it. “I said don’t look, you perv.”

Ivy chuckled. “Pervert implies genuine interest. That was research.”

“What could you have possibly been researching?” Selina grunted as she slid the black latex over her bare legs.

Ivy ignored her, checking her watch. “It’s time to go.”

“Don’t change the…” Selina watched as Ivy exited the car. “Hey!”

Ivy leaned her head back in. “You know what you have to do. Get in, get out, and then you get your diamond.” With that, she slammed the car door and strutted across the street towards the police station in her skin tight navy blue work dress. She had (wisely) decided to stay away from the color green for the day.

  
Catwoman flipped her off as she went. “Bitch.” She grumbled, pulling her cowl over her head and her goggles over her eyes.


	35. 35

Harleen had come willingly. This was her cooperating. They didn’t produce a warrant; they hadn’t restrained her…it seemed amicable enough. They were, however, Harleen noticed, leading her into an “interview” room rather than one of their offices, and that was not a good sign.

“In here?” Montoya suggested, pointing to the interview room that she had clearly always intended to lead them to.

Harley shrugged like she had a choice in the matter. “Why not?”

Bullock smiled his lopsided grin and opened the door for the two of them. “Ladies first.”

/

Poison Ivy stepped off the elevator onto the top floor of the building wearing her disguise. She was slightly bustier than Catwoman, so the dress Ivy borrowed was rather snug on her figure, although she was pretty sure that would work to her advantage. She stopped for a moment, letting the metallic doors shut behind her, and applied some of her special lipstick. Ivy hadn’t been able to properly test it out before she was thrown in Arkham the last time, but the data had been promising. The commissioner would be the perfect subject for her first dry run.

Ivy’s heels clacked on the linoleum as she made her way down the hall, following the signs for Commissioner Gordon’s office. The hallway soon opened up into a room with a receptionist’s desk in the corner. At the desk sat a redheaded girl, prepubescent…10 years old, if Ivy had to guess, maybe 12, but a small 12. She was scribbling furiously on a text book despite it being a Friday afternoon. A redhead doing homework on the weekend? Ivy liked this girl already.

“Excuse me.” Ivy started.

That woke the girl up from whatever trance she was in. “Y-yes?” She asked, forcibly tearing her eyes from the paper.

The girl’s voice sounded a bit like Dr. Quinzel’s, in Ivy’s opinion, high and clear. “I have a meeting with Commissioner Gordon. Is he in?”

“Oh…umm…” The girl brushed the bangs out of her eyes and shuffled the papers strewn over the desk, looking for something that she had clearly buried somewhere under her schoolwork. “Name, please?” She had located the commissioner’s calendar.

“Irving.” Ivy told her. “Paula Irving.”

“Hmm…” The girl scanned the paper. “I’m sorry, Ms. Irving, I don’t see you on here.”

Ivy rolled her eyes expressively. “Damn it, not again.”

“What?” The girl was inquisitive.

“My receptionist.” Ivy told her. “She’s not all that bright. This is the second time she’s failed to make an appointment for me.”

“Oh…” the girl looked as disappointed as Ivy was pretending to be.

Ivy sighed, looking the girl over again. “I like your hair, it’s very pretty.”

The girl smiled self-consciously. “Thanks. The kids at school call me Carrot Top.” She seemed to be none too happy with that nickname.

Ivy smiled kindly down at her. “Carrot tops are green, darling.”

The girl thought it over for a moment and then giggled. She glanced over her shoulder at the commissioner’s office. “Dad doesn’t have any more meetings for the rest of the day, so you can probably just go in.”

Ivy’s face lit up. Now she knew she liked this girl. “Thank you.”

The girl grinned. “You’re welcome, Ms. Irving. I’m Barbara, by the way.” She stuck out her little hand and Ivy took it in hers, careful to tone done the concentration of her poison in that extremity as she did so.

“Pleasure to meet you, Barbara. The Commissioner is very lucky to have a daughter as bright as you. Maybe I should hire you as my receptionist.” She winked a temporarily hazel eye.

Barbara blushed and Ivy pushed through the double doors into the commissioner’s office.

/

Catwoman watched on the security monitor as Barbara Gordon let Ivy into the commissioner’s office. She inserted the floppy disk into the monitor, replacing the livestream with recorded footage of the same room. Selina knew that would come in handy someday.

She checked the other monitors in an attempt to find the evidence room, but saw Pamela’s doctor first. The blonde was seated in an interrogation room with both Montoya and Bullock, but her stance was confident, from what Selina could tell. They would have a little more time until she was on the verge of breaking, and Selina couldn’t see the evidence box with them in the room, which meant she still had time to tamper with it. She did eventually locate the evidence room; its image was projected on the screen in the left hand corner. The text on the screen said “B”, which Catwoman took to mean she would find it in the basement. ‘Great.’ It was a well-known fact that The Cat was far more talented on the high wire than in a tunnel, but she would make due, even if her claustrophobia killed her. She wanted that diamond. Bad.

/

Bullock was looking over Harleen’s file, chuckling to himself. “We only grew up two blocks away from each other.”

“You’re kidding!” Harley sat forward.

“Nope!” He promised. “1350 Clinton street.”

“That’s so funny.” Harleen laughed. “I had a friend who grew up on Clinton. We called him Ginger.”

Bullock squinted. “I don’t remember him, I think I’m a little older than you.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Harleen grinned. What had Ivy said? Compliment him to make him think you’d have him, then pounce once they’re smitten. OK, well, Harley was hardly in an offensive position, but the rest of it, the flirty part she could do. Montoya made her nervous, though. She as just watching her, silently evaluating and Harleen felt like she was failing whatever test was being administered.

“So where’s the accent?” Bullock asked.

“Oh, ha ha.” Harleen turned her attention back to the man. “I tried to train myself out of it.” She grimaced before beginning her performance, “But, ya know, no matta how much I try, It jus’ can’t take a hint!”

Bullock snorted good-naturedly. “Don’t I know it.”

“So a Gotham girl through and though? Must have been a big deal representing Gotham City in your competitions. You competed country-wide for Coach Aristov, is that right?” Montoya asked.

“I’m rootin’ for ya, Harl.” Harley assured her.

“Yes.” Harleen nodded. “It’s terrible what happened. Why didn’t you two ask me about him when we met in the store?”

“We didn’t know you were affiliated with him.” Montoya answered.

“Well I didn’t know he was dead.” Harley told her. “Talk about miscommunication.”

Montoya was once again looking at the file. “I understand you helped Gotham State to a national championship.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harleen smiled proudly. “But that was four years after I left Coach Aristov’s program.”

“Right…” Montoya began. “Why did you leave, again?”

Harleen shrugged. “It was just time to go. I was offered a full ride from Gotham State, they had an impressive program, and my pre-med courses were too time consuming to do both.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with the affair?”

/

“Good afternoon, Darling.” Catwoman greeted the young man in charge of guarding the evidence locker. He, of course, immediately reached for his radio which she promptly kicked out of his hand. “I apologize for this in advance.” She told him, “I’m just not in a good mood.” She raised her leg again and kicked him in the head, knocking him out cold. With a sigh she grumbled “this is beneath me” before grabbing the keys from the man’s belt and unlocking the metal cage.

“Aristov, Aristov, Aristov…” She moved down the rows of boxes. “Aha!” Luckily his last name started with an ‘A’. She opened the box and peered inside, seeing the bloody hammer, a whiskey glass and what looked like a slide someone would view under a microscope. She picked the last item up to inspect it noticing that there was some ridging in between the glass slides. A partial print. ‘Pfft, amateur.’ Catwoman thought as she pulled Ivy’s solution from inside her bra. Her suit, unfortunately, didn’t have any formal pockets. She lifted the top slide off of the print and placed a drop of the solution onto the faint ridges of it. Amazed, she watched as the print began to change shape. ‘Oh I’m keeping this.’ She decided, smiling at the little vile. She then moved onto the whiskey glass and gave it the same treatment. Ivy had instructed her not to use it on the murder weapon, if she were to find one because it would augment and dilute the blood, maiming the evidence too severely.

Catwoman placed the lid back atop the box and slid it into place on the shelf. ‘Now for the fun part.’ She smirked. There was a bank robbery a few days prior and when the criminals were apprehended, some of the goodies they stole from the safe were temporarily deemed police evidence. But Selina didn’t care about the safe, she wanted the…’Safety deposit boxes’ she grinned at the appropriately labeled cardboard container. ‘Diamonds and emeralds and rubies, oh my!’  
She took what she needed to convince the police Catwoman had raided the evidence room for jewels only and then pulled herself up into the air vent, pushing her loot in front of her as she navigated her way through the building’s ceilings and walls. Again, she would rather be jumping from rooftop to rooftop, but there would be plenty of time for that later.  
/

Harleen’s fists were clenched so tight her forearms were beginning to cramp. “It wasn’t like that.”

Montoya arched a dark eyebrow. “It says here you were banned from Olympic competition. While you were at Gotham State, winning your national championship, he was coaching the Olympic team, is that right?”

“Assistant coaching.” Harleen mumbled.

“So your coach, a married, 38-year-old man had an affair with his 15-year-old athlete and yet you were the one banned from competition while he was, in effect, promoted?” Montoya shook her head. “I might not be an athlete like yourself, but I’ll tell you what, I’d be pretty pissed if somebody ruined my chances at an Olympic medal.”

“Ya, Harl! She’s right! That’s bullshit.”

‘Shut up, Harley. I’m handling this.’

“I don’t know, Girly, you’re gettin’ pretty peeved. That guy deserved it! You got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

‘OK, well, I doubt they’re going to see it like that.’

Harleen was roused from her internal dialogue by the sound of a turning doorknob. Harley expected it to be another cop bringing in some more evidence against her, but for the second time that day, she was surprised by what a swinging door revealed. A pale-skinned woman strode in wearing an expensive looking dress and matching heels. Her light brown hair was swept up into a professional bun and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses magnified her hazel eyes. There was something familiar about the woman, but Harleen couldn’t quite place her…until she spoke.

“Detectives,” Pamela Isley addressed them.  
Montoya stood up. “This is a closed interview.”

“I’m Dr. Quinzel’s lawyer, and as far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t be interrogating her at all, closed interview or otherwise.” Ivy told them matter-of-factly.

“Interviewing. Not interrogating.” Bullock corrected.

“We’re all adults here, detective.” Ivy looked at Harleen who was staring at her dumbly. “Do you have any evidence connecting my client to this crime besides an affair 10 years ago?”

“Yeah.” Bullock sneered, clearly disliking Ivy’s energy. “We’ve got a finger print.”

“Well great.” Ivy tapped her foot impatiently in what Harley interpreted as a secret symbol just in case Harley wasn’t clear on her identity yet (or, ya know, maybe she was just impatient). “Let’s test it against my client’s. Have you printed her yet?”

“No.” Montoya answered plainly.

“Let’s go then. My client is a very busy woman; this little interview is cutting into her work day. Dr. Quinzel…” she looked back at Harley again. “Go ahead. This shouldn’t take long.” She sat down in the chair next to Harley’s, rapping her fingers on the table.

Montoya glared at the woman and produced the finger printing kit.

Harleen glanced nervously over at Ivy who gave her an encouraging nod. She took a deep breath and put her hands up on the table.

“Good luck, Harl.” Harley told her.


	36. 36

“We’ll have these processed by tomorrow.” Montoya told the two women, her eyes narrowed. She watched as the lawyer got up from the table, a look of blinding self-assuredness illuminating her pretty features. Montoya knew the type- cocky Ivy League lawyers whose only mission in life was to be better than everybody else. But then Montoya had a curious thought, Harleen hadn’t made a call before they left Arkham or when they’d arrived at the station. “When did Dr. Quinzel call you?”

Ms. Irving stopped, but her expression didn’t waiver. “She didn’t.”

“Well then how did you—“

“Dr. Quinzel and I were supposed to have dinner tonight.” Ms. Irving sighed. “Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I called to make sure we were still on and a Dr. Leland came to the phone and alerted me that Harleen here had been taken down to the police station. Naturally, I came right over.”

Harleen was watching her lawyer with a look of utter amazement.

“Let’s go, Harleen.” Ms. Irving told her. “If we leave now we can still make our reservation.”

The young doctor got up from her chair and followed the woman to the door.

“Don’t leave town.” Montoya warned her. “Not until we’ve cleared you.”

“I’ll be waiting for your call.” Harleen told her with a slightly apologetic smile.

Montoya and Bullock moved a little slower, rousing themselves from their chairs with an evident depression. Harleen Quinzel had been a strong suspect. The idea of going back to square one was exhausting.

Commissioner Gordon was waiting for them in the viewing room.

“Commissioner,” Montoya said, surprised he was still at the station. “Didn’t you have that birthday dinner with Barbara?”

“Catwoman broke into the evidence room.” He told them, his tone flat. “She stole the entirety of the Vreeland family’s safety deposit box.”

“Goddamn it!” Bullock slammed his fist into the wall. “These costumed creeps are killin’ us!”

Gordon nodded. “I’m reassigning the Aristov murder. You two are my best, I want you on the Catwoman theft.”

Bullock groaned. “Shouldn’t The Bat take care of that?”

“Not when it was stolen from our evidence room, he shouldn’t.”

Montoya thought the Commissioner must have had a rough day. His cheeks were red, his hair shooting in every direction…hardly the put-together Gordon they were used to. Montoya thought she knew why, too. The Vreeland’s were important donors to the GCPD. Their family heirlooms being stolen from an evidence locker probably wasn’t going to go over too well at the next donor’s gala.

“She knocked Williams out downstairs. Maybe start with him.” The Commissioner suggested.

Montoya nodded helpfully. “Wish Barbara a happy birthday for us. We’ll get Quinzel’s print’s down to the lab and then start on Catwoman’s trail.”

Gordon shook his head. “I don’t think it will match. Dr. Quinzel has an alibi.”

/

“Ivy.” Harleen said in a harsh whisper as she and her former patient made their way down the sidewalk towards the red Mustang. “Ivy is that really you?” The woman didn’t respond. “Ivy?”

“Harleen, we are not 50 feet from the police station and you’ve already used my name three times. Can you try to be a little more inconspicuous, please?”

Well, Harley got the answer she was looking for anyway. She smirked and jogged up ahead of Ivy, opening the passenger side door for her. Ivy didn’t even give her a second look, she just sat down like the courtesy was expected. Harley would have liked a smile in return, but she wasn’t exactly in a place to ask for things at the moment. In fact, she should be thanking Ivy. So she shut the door and circled around the driver’s side, sitting down and reaching to buckle her seatbelt. As she turned to her left to find the shoulder strap, she felt a hard pinch in her right arm. Thinking that a bee had stung her, her head whipped around to investigate, but there wasn’t a bee, there was Poison Ivy holding a syringe, a feral smile on her face. It all happened before Harleen could react. Ivy leaned towards her with flickering green eyes, the colored contacts having been discarded, and took Harley’s chin between her thumb and index finger. Harley felt like the world was moving in slow motion as Poison Ivy pressed onward, pulling them together into a kiss. Her lips were soft as rose petals and her smell was intoxicating, like spring flowers and freshly cut grass- the smell of the daffodils in her green vase. Harley had just moved past the confusion and surprise phase and was relaxing into the sensation when Ivy broke their seal and whispered “I win” against her lips.

“D-did you…did you poison me?” Harley asked, remaining in close proximity.

Ivy chuckled, causing the butterflies in Harley’s stomach to take flight. “Now where would be the fun in that?” the older woman pushed a loose strand of blonde hair behind Harley’s ear.

The gymnast lunged forward in search of her lips again, but Ivy placed her hand on the girl’s chest, keeping her at bay. “Patience is a virtue, Daffodil. Now let’s go, I owe some asshole a diamond.”


	37. 37

Harleen was nervously glancing over at Ivy in two block intervals and it was beginning to sincerely annoy the older woman.

Ivy sighed. "Is it the wig? I'm not a fan of it either." She looped her fingers into the artificial hairline and pulled it away, making short work of the wig cap as well and revealing her natural red hair. "Better?" She asked as it flapped about in the wind.

Harleen didn't answer her question, she instead asked for directions. "Mountain lane, you said?"

Ivy nodded. "Take a right up here." She closed her eyes and felt the wind on her face. This was a degree of freedom that Pamela hadn't known before. No one was looking for her. She was allowed to be in this car right now. She didn't have to hide, but decided to remain pale-skinned for the time being anyway so as to not to cause a traffic jam.

"Are you sure you didn't poison me? I thought your kisses were poisonous."

"You're immune now." Ivy told her without opening her eyes as she enjoyed the sun beating down on her skin. By the tone in Harley's voice, she could tell that there were a million questions floating around in the girl's head that she wasn't asking. Ivy knew the moment would come when a thorough explanation was required, but luckily it wouldn't be this moment because in this moment, Ivy could hear her flowers singing. They were close. Her eyelids drifted open and now she could see it, her beautiful greenhouse. "There." She pointed up ahead. Ivy knew this stop would only be temporary. A promise had been made and she would abide by it, but the idea of seeing her flowers again made her heart sing. Not even the image of Catwoman sitting on her roof dissuaded her excitement. "Pull in here." Ivy told her driver, pointing to the garage.

Harleen obeyed, hanging a sharp right into the darkened structure.

Ivy opened the car door before the engine had even been shut down and popped up with an athleticism Harleen hadn't witnessed in her yet. "Well come on." She beckoned her driver. "Let's go."

"This isn't the safehouse Batman got for you…" Harley was apprehensive.

"Moving is a process, Harleen. There are some things in here that I simply refuse to part with."

This Dr. Quinzel seemed to understand. She pulled herself out of the driver's seat and gently shut the door behind her. She followed Ivy through the garage into the main house.

"It's a bit plain, I know." Pamela apologized. "I spent most of my time in the greenhouse anyway." Her plants were telling her that the greenhouse's skylight was opening and Ivy told the Venus flytrap to stand down. If she were going to kill Catwoman, she would do it with her bare hands. Speaking of which…she closed her eyes and allowed her skin to shift back into its natural emerald coloring.

The blonde followed the plant queen dutifully to the entrance of the greenhouse, but jumped nearly out of her skin when a dark figure dropped down in front of them.

"Where's the diamond?" Catwoman asked.

Ivy watched as all color drained from Harleen's face. The girl's mouth had fallen open in an expression that conveyed either mortal fear or amazement, Ivy couldn't tell which.

"It's C…It's Ca…It's Catwoman!" She stammered.

"In the flesh." Selina presented herself like a model would a lottery ball.

"Catwoman isn't a villain, she's just selfish, so it shouldn't count as a contract violation." Ivy explained. She attempted to gauge her doctor's reaction in the brief moment of silence before the blonde's face broke out into a giddy smile.

"It's Catwoman! Oh my god, I love you! I used to have your poster on my wall when I was in high school, seriously! I'd watch you on the news all the time and I used to cut out stories about you in the newspaper." She caught herself momentarily. "Not that stealing is good, but you are just incredible! Your flips are so tight! I used to try to emulate you when I was a gymnast. When I was 14 I saw you on the news evading the cops by swinging a double twisting double back in the rafters of the art museum and I was like 'oh my god, she's my hero.'"

For a moment, both Ivy and Selina were too thrown off to speak, but Catwoman's expression quickly slipped into a cocky smirk, which she directed at Pam. "You hear that, Pammy? I'm her hero."

Harley looked like she wanted to bounce off the walls. At least some color had returned to her face. "Ivy you never told me you knew Catwoman!" She turned back to Selina. "Seriously, though. Can I…Can I get your autograph; do you think? I have this scrapbook at my mom's house that's just like…a bunch of pictures of you being a baddass. You were my absolute inspiration on the uneven bars." Harley laughed nervously.

"Why of course you can have my autograph." Catwoman told her. "Would you also like to wear my skin around?"

Harley laughed again, her expression overflowing with excitement. "Catwoman just made a Buffalo Bill joke! This is officially the best day ever. Pam had never seen The Silence of The Lambs." She told The Cat like it was going to be their new inside joke.

"Blasphemous." Catwoman winked at Harley.

'I change my ways and then come and rescue her from a murder charge and here she is mooning over Selina, fangirling over her because…what? She can jump off buildings? So what! I don't need to jump off buildings, my plants carry me down. Dr. Quinzel is mine. I will NOT be sharing her affections with Cat. I refuse to.' Without a moment's hesitation, Ivy flicked her wrist out and pulled Catwoman's cowl off of her head, revealing a very surprised Selina Kyle.

The brunette hissed and swiped at Ivy, who ducked to avoid the woman's claws.

Harley's jaw was on the floor, starring wide-eyed at the unmasked cat burglar. "Selina Kyle? You're Catwoman?"

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Of course she is. Honestly, Harleen, you just saw her like three hours ago. She has the exact same voice and those creepy eyes…How do people not make the connection?"

"Bitch." Selina kicked Ivy in the stomach, sending her stumbling back into a nearby tree.

"Selina Kyle is Catwoman?" Dr. Quinzel repeated, dumbfounded.

"Yep, Cat's out of the bag!" Selina snapped at the girl. A vine wrapped around her ankle and pulled her feet out from under her. "Hey!" She shouted, looking up at Ivy who was now towering above her.

"Honestly," Ivy crossed over to Harleen and yanked the prop glasses off of her face. "All this secrecy is ridiculous. Why human beings feel the need to constantly apologize for who they are is beyond me. Selina, you steal shiny things. Harley, you kill people. Great. Let's move on."

"Hey!" Harleen was now protesting along with Selina. "I only killed one person and he deserved it!"

Ivy sighed. "Regardless of your rationalization, the point is, to put it as eloquently as I can, 'shit happens.' Kitty won't be tattling on you anytime soon now that you know her big secret, and I expect you'll keep your mouth shut about her as well, if you know what's good for you."

"Yeah." Selina seconded.

"Don't piggy back, Kitty." Ivy snapped her fingers and the vine around Selina's ankle lifted her off the ground so that she hung upside down in front of the plant queen. "It's not cute."

"The diamond." Selina growled.

Ivy snapped again and a few moments later a vine appeared carrying the Harlequin Diamond. The one holding Catwoman released her and she somehow landed on her feet, snatching the object away from the plant.

"Doogie, I wish you luck with this one. Really. She's a nightmare. Pamela? Let's never do this again." With that, Selina turned and clawed her way up the tree, escaping through its branches out the skylight.

"I told you she's the worst."


	38. 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated 'M' or probably even 'E'.
> 
> Author's note: Huge, gigantic shout out to my friend Bridget for writing the intimate moments in this chapter. My plan from the beginning was to just imply a sex scene...but she told me that making my readers wade through a bunch of psychobabble for 37 chapters without a real sex scene was the embodiment of a "dick move", so I said "fine! you write it."...and she did. I basically just told her the power dynamic I wanted and she went with it. 
> 
> If you're uncomfortable, you can just get to the end for some brief dialogue.

An hour later they were back in the car and Ivy was giving Harley directions again, but now the car was stuffed with plants and lab equipment. Evidently Ivy didn’t trust a moving company to handle her stuff.

“He said it’s 1510.” Ivy said, consulting her paper once again.

Harley slowed down so that they could read the addresses on the houses as they passed.

“Stop!” Ivy told her. Harley slammed on the brakes. “It’s that one.”

The smile on Ivy’s face warmed Harley’s heart. The house she was pointing to had a nice big front yard with an oak tree planted squarely at the center. The house itself was older with a sort of Victorian aesthetic to it that made it unique compared to the newer architecture of the other houses on the block.

“Well, it’s no Toxic Acres, but it will do.” Pamela grinned. And she really was Pamela, Harley could see it, just for a moment. She had paled her skin for the drive over and because she really hadn’t aged since college, she looked like she had just stepped out of that photograph from her file. There were differences, though. This Pamela was confident (to a fault) and rather unencumbered, it seemed. She didn’t wish upon stars, she took what she wanted, and Harley smiled at the idea that she wanted her.

It only took them 10 minutes to get the lab equipment inside, a little longer for the flowers because Ivy insisted on doing that all by herself. Meanwhile, Harley explored the house. What day it had been. She’d released Ivy from Arkham, been questioned by the cops for a murder she most certainly did commit, and then Ivy swooped in like a knight in shining armor bringing Catwoman with her. Harley had discovered Catwoman’s secret identity and was given immunity to Ivy’s toxins…what a day, indeed.

Harleen liked the house immediately. It had tall, vaulted ceilings and wide open spaces. Ivy would be able to put her plants wherever she wanted. It wasn’t completely empty, either. Someone had provided basic furnishings- a couch, a chair with an ottoman and a kitchen table around which you could comfortably seat 6 people.

The mystery as to who had furnished it was solved immediately upon Harley entering the master bedroom. A giant canvas painting of a black cat hung above the bed which was made up in expensive looking silk sheets the color of the cat’s fur. There was a folded note on one of the pillows that Harley quickly liberated from its envelope.

“For Pammy and her child-bride,

Here’s hoping these sheets will help with your frustration.

Sincerely,

Kitty Cat”

Ivy startled Harley as she entered the room, paying little attention to the blonde as she was clearly on a mission. “Oh I don’t think so.” She said as she stepped up onto the bed and pulled the painting off of the wall. “Be a dear and open that for me.” Ivy gestured to the window.

Harley obliged, yanking it open, and then stepped aside. Ivy walked over and quickly shoved the painting out, letting it fall the two stories to the ground. She then snatched the note out of Harley’s hand, read it over, made a face, crumpled it up into a ball and threw it against the wall, all of which made Harley laugh.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Ivy asked, a smile playing on her lips.

Harleen nodded. “What do they say about meeting your heroes?”

“You can only be disappointed.” Ivy advanced, pushing Harley down onto the bed behind her and quickly moving to straddle the younger woman.

Harley liked the pressure of curvaceous Ivy's ass on her pelvis and her strong legs on either side of her hips. Pamela began to rock back and forth, grinding gently against her, releasing every bit of sexual desire Harley had been stuffing down inside since they’d met. Harley had waited two long months for this and now it was finally happening. She hadn’t even been sure this was what she wanted, but now…after that kiss…and feeling Poison Ivy’s heat on her center…she made up her mind. Harley wanted more contact, so she grabbed at the neck of Ivy’s dress and brought her upper-body down on top of her. She craned her neck upwards, hoping to meet Ivy’s lips, but the plant goddess denied her at first, simply smiling down at the woman beneath her before her fingers danced over Harley’s chest, finally finding the buttons on her blouse. Now her smiling lips were against Harley’s, planting teasingly brief kisses there. Of course sex with Poison Ivy would be a frustrating game just like everything else. Harley would have to initiate.

As Ivy made her way down to the last two buttons, Harley probed with her tongue in between her lips. Ivy finally opened further, granting the pink muscle entrance and engaging it in a battle with her own between their mouths. The kiss was addicting. Pamela tasted like wild strawberries and honey suckle and Harley didn’t quite understand how. The perks of being a meta-human, she assumed.

Ivy opened Harleen’s shirt, having made it past the final button, exposing her bare stomach. She then detached from Harley’s lips and tongue and playfully tugged on the necktie that was only slightly looser than normal around the doctor’s neck. “I think we’ll leave this on.”

Harleen blushed a bit but was reassured when Ivy’s warm palms began to feel up her stomach. Starting at the waistline of her skirt, she worked upwards until her hands were on the girl’s breasts. But she didn’t squeeze like Harley had hoped she would, instead she looped her hands under Harley’s back and deftly unclasped her bra, revealing Harley’s bare breasts in one smooth motion.

Harley groped frantically at the goddess above her, desperate to feel more of her body. This made Ivy smile again. “So ea…” She started to say something, but then evidently thought better of it, instead pushing herself off of Harley and the bed altogether. Well that was the opposite of what Harley wanted. Her disappointment didn’t last long, though, as Ivy reached for the zipper on the back of her own navy dress, letting it fall off of her shoulders and shimmying her waist to remove the fabric completely.

Harleen was aware she was gaping, but she didn’t care. Poison Ivy was standing before her in lacy green lingerie, what was she supposed to do? “You’re so…”

“Shhh…” Ivy returned to her position atop the blonde. “I know.” She gave her a chaste kiss and unzipped Harley’s skirt, sliding it off of her hips. Harley was still a little peeved that Ivy hadn’t touched her breasts yet, but…now she was pressing her palms against every inch of Harley’s nearly naked form. She shivered at the touch, especially when Ivy’s fingernails occasionally grazed the extra sensitive areas. Each time Harley whimpered or reacted, Pamela seemed to make a mental note. It only took a moment for the blonde to realize what she was doing- she was mapping her, turning the experience into a scientific exploration.

“Are you experimenting?” Harley asked as she quivered under the woman’s touch.

Ivy dragged her fingernail from Harley’s navel to the top of her panties and then back again while she leaned down to whisper in the girl’s ear. “Everything I do is with calculated precision, Dr. Quinzel.” Harleen moaned as Ivy took her earlobe into her mouth, sucking gently. Harley wanted that everywhere. “You’re such a tease.” She said, closing her eyes and trying to ignore her body screaming for more.

“It’s punishment, Daffodil.” Ivy dragged her tongue over the younger woman’s jawline and nibbled on her bottom lip.

“No…” Harley groaned, moving to tangle her hands in Ivy’s long red hair. But the plant goddess denied her once more, grabbing her hands and pushing them above her head.

Ivy smirked at Harleen’s obvious frustration and began to nip and suck at the sensitive places that she had found on her body.

Pamela’s dangerous green eyes never left Harley’s, which was something Harley hadn’t experienced in a lover before. Her gaze implored her not to look away. It was the same look she had given her the day they first met.

Finally, Ivy took Harley’s breast in her warm mouth, but didn’t suck at her nipple, just held it in her mouth, driving Harley absolutely crazy. She arched her back for more contact and Ivy obliged her, rolling her tongue around the nipple, eliciting a moan from Harley that Ivy seemed to be satisfied with. Much to Harleen’s dismay, she released the breast soon after to drag her tongue across her skin like she had on her jaw, making her way over to the other nipple. Harley tried again to tangle her fingers in her hair, but was again denied, her hands placed back above her head.

As Ivy sucked on the second breast, she snaked her hand around the girl’s waist, finding her ass beneath her panties and squeezing gently. Harley was pretty sure this could be classified as torture. Pam pressed more of her weight onto Harley, pulling the blonde’s hips up to meet hers. Harley bucked into her, hoping for more friction, but Ivy pressed them both downward, stifling any chance of release.

Harley whimpered and Ivy appeared to take some pity on her, slipping her hand between them and feeling at the wetness that had soaked through Harley’s panties. Ivy released the nipple with a loud ‘pop’ and giggled “you’re so wet, Harleen…if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me.”

“This isn’t funny, Ivy.” Harleen groaned. “I do…I want…”

“Sure it’s funny, Daffodil.” She gently grazed her fingers over the wet spot again, purposefully not providing much friction. “It’s not very nice to toy with people’s emotions, Dr. Quinzel.”

“I’m so…sorry…” Harley moaned, sweat accumulating on her brow from the teasing ministrations Ivy was making over her panties.

“Oh, fine.” Ivy chucked. “Is this better?” She slipped her hand below the black waist band and finally made direct contact with her clitoris. Harley bucked desperately, but Ivy again pushed her hips down. She rubbed gradually harder with her index finger and moved her thumb down to Harley’s entrance where she casually ran it over the girl’s inner lips.

“PLEASE!” Harley begged.

Ivy smirked and slipped her tongue under the waist line of the blonde’s panties, licking the skin just under the lip of the fabric. She probed a little further with her thumb as she did so, enjoying the feeling of Harley’s wetness.

The girl’s eyes were now shut tightly. “Look at me.” Ivy requested. Harleen didn’t obey right away. “I said ‘look at me.’” Blue met green and Ivy was content. She stripped the panties off of Harley’s legs and discarded them. “I will pleasure you as long as you keep your eyes on mine, do you understand?”

Harley nodded quickly, making sure to maintain eye contact. Ivy replaced her index finger with her mouth, working her tongue in tight circles around Harley’s clit and then moving down in a long, slow exploration of Harley’s entire being. The blonde gasped as she was hit with a wave of pleasure, but Ivy’s finger was inside her before she could properly squirm. It hooked and pressed into her depths.

The doctor’s eyes shut in enjoyment but then suddenly there was nothing, Ivy had removed both her mouth and finger. Harley’s eyes flew open and looked frantically for the plant queen who was lying between her legs, an expectant look on her face. “What did I say?” She asked before slipping her finger back inside. Harley moaned and bit her lip, fighting the urge to close her eyes. Ivy returned her mouth to the girl’s clitoris and began to suck, causing her hips to buck wildly. Pamela introduced another finger, burying them to the knuckle with each thrust, keeping her pacing patient and methodical. Harley didn’t close her eyes, but she did attempt to reach for her again. This clearly displeased Ivy. “No touching.” The meta-human adjusted her position so that she was now leaning over Harley, pressing both of the girl’s hands above her head and increasing the pace with which her fingers pumped.

Harley’s breath was ragged as she felt her inner walls begin to clench around Ivy’s fingers. She reached her face upwards, attempting to kiss the woman, and to her surprise, she allowed it. Ivy kissed her passionately as her fingers seemed to reach new depths. Harley released her lips so that she could gasp for air. “Ivy…I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” Ivy slowed their pace and moved her thumb to rub Harley’s clitoris. The sensation proved to be the last straw and Harley unraveled, the orgasm erupting from deep inside her she let out a final primal moan. Ivy left her fingers beneath her folds, pressing every so often, letting Harley come down from her climax gradually. Ivy released the girl’s hands and untangled herself from Harley’s legs, coming to rest beside her. Harley rolled her head to face her, studying the other woman’s fair features. She had not been green this whole time, Harley noticed. ‘Poison Ivy just made me cum and I didn’t die.’ Harley grinned, her body still quivering. Mischievously, she rolled over and began drawing circles on the other woman’s body, slowly snaking her way past her navel, but as soon she passed that, Pamela’s hand shot out and grabbed Harley’s who was startled at the suddenness of the movement. Harley looked at her quizzically, but Ivy didn’t answer, she just pressed the girl’s hand down onto her own chest and rolled away from Harleen, bringing her knees to her chest in something resembling the fetal position.

Harley’s maniacal giggle rang out inside her head. “Oopsie daisy.”

‘What?’ Harleen asked, studying the toned muscles of Ivy’s back as the woman lay motionless.

“You ain’t a very good therapist, Harls.”

‘What are you talking about?’

“Did’ya ever wonder why exactly Red wants so much control over her sexuality?”

‘Yes. We covered this. It’s punishing human beings for their lust.’

“Right, but…did’ya notice how she didn’t let’cha touch er’ once that whole time? And right now, she’s layin’ there even though ya clearly owe her one. And what was up with the eye contact?”

‘It’s a game, she wanted to know she was winning. The eye contact was just another way to assert control.’

“Ya…or maybe she was lookin’ for consent. Did it ever occur ta you that maybe that Woodrue guy took advantage of her in more ways than one? You read the police report, she was strapped ta that table for a long time…”

‘Oh shit. Oh my god, of course.’

“Ya…seems like you were too busy playin’ the game to actually fix her.”

“Harleen?” Ivy’s voice momentarily quieted Harley’s.

“Yes?”

The woman didn’t turn to her. “Do you still hear Harley?”

‘As a matter of fact…’

“Sometimes.” Harleen admitted. An uncomfortable silence descended on the room.

“I can’t hear Pamela anymore.”


	39. 39

A thick vine coiled around Batgirl’s wrist. She thrashed at it angrily, but it wouldn’t budge. She grabbed a batarang from her utility and sawed through it. Ivy would let her have that, although it pained the plant queen to see one of her babies brutalized so.

Batgirl started after her again in a mad sprint. With a subtle flick of her wrist, Ivy implored another vine to wrap around the girl’s feet, tripping her up and sending her toppling to the floor.

“No fair!” Batgirl complained. “It’s way too easy if she just gets to use her powers the whole time.”

“Wearing the cowl sometimes means taking on meta-humans.” Batman said, keeping his eyes on Ivy who was exhibiting an impressive degree of control. Maybe this whole contract thing would work after all. “Start again.” He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

Batgirl groaned and limped back to her starting position at the other end of the room.

Ivy stood with her hands on her hips. “Come and get it.” She smirked.

Ivy let the vigilante get a little further this time, using two vines to stop her only feet from where she stood clothed in her customary green leotard. The vines wrapped around both of Batgirl’s wrists and pulled her to her knees.

The plant queen strutted forward confidently, taking the girl’s chin between her thumb and index finger. “A Bat-Brat on their knees. What a pretty picture.”

“Knock it off, Isley.” Batman warned.

Batgirl wrestled her face away from the woman’s hand. “You’re a coward. You know I could kick your ass in hand-to-hand.”

Ivy smirked. “Shall we find out?” She released the girl’s wrists and the vigilante immediately lunged forward only to be met with a strong fist upper-cutting into her stomach and knocking the wind out of her. Batgirl crumpled to the ground.

“Just because I don’t list athleticism and strength as one of my attributes doesn’t mean I don’t have it.”

Batman watched silently, waiting for Batgirl’s reaction. He hadn’t been training her long. In fact, he had set up this training session more for her benefit than Ivy’s. For Ivy it was about controlling her power, for Batgirl it was about finding them.

The girl rolled from her side onto her knees and shakily drew herself up, attempting to catch her breath. She had stamina, that’s for sure.

“Again?” Ivy grinned.

“No plants.” Batgirl grunted.

In what was evidently a confirmation, Ivy dropped down to a crouching position and used her leg to sweep the girl’s feet out from under her, landing Batgirl on her butt once again. The vigilante slammed her fist down on the ground in frustration.

“Alright.” Batman came between them. “That’s enough for tonight. Batgirl? Try the heavy bag instead, alright?”

“Fine.” Batgirl got up and sulked off in the direction of the punching bags.

Batman turned to Ivy. “I have something for you.”’

Ivy arched an eyebrow. “Is it something that will get me home faster?”

“No. Probably not.” He admitted, walking out of the room and up the staircase. Ivy glanced over at Batgirl, who was angrily wailing on the attack dummy, before following him. She smirked as she ascended the stairs.

Batman stopped at the first landing and opened the thick metal door there. He had gone through all this trouble to blindfold Ivy before bringing her into his lair, and always wore his cowl around…but Ivy knew who he really was. The moss in his Batcave had told her. He was Bruce Wayne, which honestly made a lot of sense given how expensive being a superhero without powers must be and his relationship both in and out of costume with Selina Kyle. Pamela felt a bit stupid to not have realized it before. She decided she would keep his secret in favor of revealing it dramatically later on. But in the meantime, she allowed him to keep up the illusion.

The room Batman lead them into was lined with different versions of he and Robin’s suits in glass display cases. Ivy assumed they all served different purposes. Batgirl and Robin’s main suits were noticeably absent from their cases since they were both currently in use- Batgirl wearing hers in the training room and Robin wearing his out on patrol.

Batman stopped and waited until Ivy was beside him. “What do you think?” He asked, pointing at the case in front of him. Ivy looked and saw that the suit was tailored for a woman. A black, full length bodysuit that would cover the wearer from neck to ankle.

“What, is that for me?” Ivy was incredulous.

Batman nodded.

“It’s awfully…modest.” Ivy offered, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the thing.

“Yes. But it’s functional.” Batman told her. “The material works like a greenhouse. It will allow sunlight to pass through unimpeded, and trap it there, creating a concentrated environment for your powers.” He pointed to the large green splotches on the suit that began to glow as Ivy moved closer to it. “Those are essentially solar panels which will store the solar energy collected in the daylight and aide you at night as well.” Batman’s expression remained austere under his cowl, but Ivy thought she caught a glint of pride in the slight upturn of his lips.

Ivy crossed her arms. “Seems like quite the undertaking for you.”

“Whether you like it or not, Isley, you’re on my team now. My team does not wear leafy green leotards.”

“No.” Ivy chuckled. “Just green Speedos, right?”

 

“OK, let’s see it.” Harleen smiled, setting the file she was reading on the bedside table.

“No.” Ivy crossed her arms defiantly, like a small child would.

“Why the hell not?” Harley asked.

“Because I don’t like it.”

“Again, why the hell not?” Harley was getting more animated. “Does it not work?”

“No, it does.” Ivy huffed.

“Well then what’s the problem? You said yourself you can make anything look good, a black bodysuit isn’t exactly hard if you’ve got the body for it, and you definitely…”

“Have the body for it.” Ivy rolled her eyes. “I know. I just feel like he branded me. Like I’m his property or something.”

“So let me get this straight,” Harleen sat up further in the bed. “You got out of Arkham, got Batman behind your cause, got into my pants…and you think He owns YOU?” She snorted. “From here it looks like it’s the other way around.”

Ivy groaned and retreated into the closet. Harley picked up where she had left off in Clayface’s file while she waited.

“This is stupid.” She heard Ivy mumble.

“Stop stalling!” The blonde shouted.

The closet door opened and Poison Ivy emerged wearing the new suit. The thin fabric hugged her every curve and Harley’s mouth began to water in a rather cartoonish reaction. The green splotches glowed the same color as Ivy’s skin and her bright red hair made a sharp contrast to the darker color palette of the ensemble. Harley wished now more than ever that Pamela would allow herself to be touched.

The blonde flipped the blankets off of her legs and crawled forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Can I be honest?”

Ivy sighed. “Yes, but just as a general warning I haven’t had an outburst today so there’s an unprecedented risk of something rather insignificant setting me off.”

“Noted.” Harley laughed. “And I’d hardly say unprecedented…” She saw a flicker in Ivy’s green eyes. “OK, Ok. Seriously, I love it. It’s definitely a big change, though, and changes can be hard…”

Ivy smirked and leaned down to kiss the other woman’s neck. “It’s a good thing I have 24/7 access to my therapist then…”

“Could I see Pamela in the outfit?” Harleen asked gently.

Ivy moved from her neck to her lips, kissing her doctor quickly. “Pamela is in the outfit, Daffodil.”

Harley smiled kindly, resisting the urge to touch her. That would be too much. Slow and steady wins the race. “You know what I mean…”

Ivy sighed, obviously realizing that the situation wouldn’t move forward until she accommodated the request. The green in her skin faded gradually until she could pass for a normal human being. “You happy now?” She asked.

Harley began to slowly lift her hands from the bed so that Ivy could see them well in advance. The redhead let her further than normal before subtly shaking her head.

The blonde sighed internally. ‘We’ll try again tomorrow.’


	40. 40

Harley pulled herself out of her car with a grunt of pain. She was halfway up Arkham's front steps before she realized that she left her briefcase in the car. "Motherfu—"

Dr. Leland was right behind her. "Harleen, are you alright?"

She had been spared the initial soreness after her workout and her…sleepover, but now it was settling into her muscles with vengeance.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine!" Harley laughed. "I just…umm…I have this balance beam at home. I used to be a gymnast…I think you know that…Anyway, I fell off it and hurt my…everything."

"You have a balance beam in your house?" Leland asked.

Harley laughed again. "I know. It's weird. Unfortunately, I left my briefcase in my car…"

"I can get that for you." Leland retrieved the black leather bag from inside the red convertible. "Have you been to see a doctor?" She asked once she'd handed the thing to Harley.

"Oh, no. Don't worry about it. I'm just sore."

Joan nodded, clearly ready to end that portion of their conversation. "I read your last report on Ms. Isley. It seems like things are going well."

Harley smiled, limping towards the door. "Seems like it, yeah."

"Honestly, I'm impressed." Dr. Leland opened the door for the injured woman. "Four months and she's still making consistent check-ins. You two must have really built a rapport."

Dr. Quinzel shrugged, attempting to hide her blush. "I guess so. Actually, if you're free for lunch today, she brought something up a little while ago that I was hoping to get your opinion on."

Dr. Leland stepped through the security gate. "Actually, I'm going out for lunch today. But I'm free now, my morning session has been canceled for a while, it seems."

The Joker's escape weighed heavy on Harley's conscience. It was her fault, after all, or at least she blamed herself for it. The revelation about Pam's past trauma had convinced her to lend The Joker's stories of childhood abuse some credence…but she had given him too much room and he'd taken advantage of it. It turned out Poison Ivy and The Joker were two very different animals despite their, at times, similar behaviors.

Harley glanced at her watch. "I've got Clayface in 30 minutes. Now would be great."

Dr. Leland nodded and the two made their way to the elder doctor's office. Harley sat down in front of the woman's desk as Leland sat down behind it.

"I haven't read anything about Dr. Isley in the papers recently. I thought, now that she was working with Batman, I would be able to keep up with her shenanigans in the media…" Leland began, leaning back in her chair.

"Batman is putting her through a rigorous training process…or so she tells me. I expect her hero's debut isn't too far away." Harley assured her.

Joan shook her head. "I just can't believe that those two are actually working together."

"Well…I'd describe it more as 'coexisting.'" Dr. Quinzel told her. "But he's a man and Pamela hasn't tried to kill him yet, so that's something."

Dr. Leland chuckled. "It certainly is something…and how is life under her new alias treating her? I didn't see you mention her personal life in your last report."

"Right…well that's what I wanted to ask you about." Harley cleared her throat. "Her transition into a…'secret identity', if you will, went rather smoothly. But naturally, there might come a time when she…might want to…" Harley tried to think of the best way to phrase it, "not be alone anymore."

Joan furrowed her brow. "You mean she'll want to get her plants back?"

"Oh, no." Harley shook her head. "I mean she might want to…eventually…be with another human being."

Dr. Leland laughed. "The day that happens, haul her back here. Pamela Isley is poisonous, Dr. Quinzel. Literally."

"No, no. I know." Harley laughed it off, although there was a noticeable unease to the sound. "I know there are some logistical hurdles, but…Jason Woodrue hurt her."

"Well obviously." Joan snorted. "He absolutely ruined her, psychologically speaking."

"Right." Harley nodded. "But I'm also fairly certain that he raped her."

Dr. Leland didn't seem at all surprised by the theory. "Oh, I'm sure he did. But that was, what? 30 years ago? I'm not suggesting that there should be a statute of limitations on the trauma responses of rape victims, I just mean she's never raised that, specifically, as an issue before."

Harleen mulled that over for a moment. "Well I think it mostly has to do with shame and a perceived loss of control. She has been living under this 'Poison Ivy' moniker for so long that she forgot what it felt like to be vulnerable. And so these last few months, functioning in the civilian world…I think she's having a difficult time remembering what normalcy felt like, and that's scary, so she equates it with a loss of control."

"Which reminds her of the rape." Dr. Leland nodded. "That makes sense to me. I remember you saying she's found a way to alter the color of her skin. I'm sure looking like her old self is also triggering. The green color must have served as armor for her, in a lot of ways."

"And being that she's barely aged a day in those 30 years, she looks in the mirror and still sees that girl." Harley crossed one leg over the other. "But the reflection of humanity is foreign to her. She told me she can't exactly access that part of herself anymore. Even though she looks like Pamela, she doesn't feel like her."

Leland shrugged. "And it's quite possible she never will. Her psyche was fractured, Dr. Quinzel. Months of torture, months in a coma…According to hospital records, she died twice. That's a lot of trauma for one person, and at this point she's only really half a person."

"So, what? You think Pamela died and she came back as something else?"

Joan shook her head. "I'm saying that maybe she lost some parts of herself. The innocent parts. She'll never be able to fully trust someone again. It's just not in her DNA anymore. At least that's what I gathered from the 8 years of therapy we had together. But as far as your question about intimacy…sexual assault is a very human issue. Talk to her about it if she'll let you. Appeal to her humanity. If she can articulate her feelings around it, then you know you're moving in the right direction."


	41. 41

"I'm not doing that." Ivy was adamant.

Harley groaned. "Is this how it's going to be with everything? You're just going to be shitty and stubborn?"

"Yes." The redhead confirmed. "Those are two adjectives regularly used to describe me. Batman just called me both of those things last night."

"Goddamn it, Pamela." Harley knocked her forehead on the steering wheel in frustration. "Sometimes we sane people have to make sacrifices."

"Right." Ivy nodded. "Like killing your gymnastics coach rather than actually dealing with your problems."

Harleen laughed angrily. "Oh, that's rich coming from you. Listen, Sweetcheeks. You signed a contract. This bit was always in there. And I know you were aware of it because you read the damn thing about 15 times."

"Sweetcheeks? Is that a Central Gotham thing?" Ivy asked with a bite to her tone.

The blonde exhaled. "I'm not going to do this with you right now, OK? I don't have the energy for it. I'm not Selina Kyle. Bitchiness isn't my first language."

Ivy snorted.

"I'm serious." Harleen told her. "I've got a lot on my plate right now between me and Harley and Arkham and you and Batman…Just this once, I need things to go smoothly so I don't get a call from a menacing voice telling me that you were disputing the contract AGAIN."

"Fine." Ivy spat, opening the passenger side door. "But I still don't understand why I have to do this."

"Sex sells, Ivy, and we're trying to sell environmentalism."

"It's degrading." Ivy argued.

"It's your M.O. on a larger scale." Dr. Quinzel told her. "This isn't rocket science. You're going to put on your suit, smile for the camera and then come right back out here, alright? Easy."

"You're not…coming in?" Ivy asked, her green skin reflecting oddly in the moonlight.

Harley shook her head. "I don't want to step on anyone's toes. I'll be right here. Don't kill anybody, OK?"

"I can't make any promises." Ivy grumbled, pulling herself out of the car and heading for the lit building.

Harley watched as she quickly stopped and turned back momentarily, tossing a small baggie that she'd drawn from the pocket of her trench coat back into the car. "What's this?" Harley took it in her hands, examining its contents which appeared to be vegetable capsules of some kind.

"It's anxiety medication." Ivy called over her shoulder.

"Where'd you get it?" Harleen asked.

"I made it." Pamela told her. "But my apologies for being such a horrible nuisance."

/

"Sloppy." Batman slammed Batgirl to the ground.

"Which part?" Batgirl grunted.

He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. "Form, approach…all of it."

Batgirl yelped at the discomfort of their position and attempted to wiggle free, but Batman held her down. "You can do better than this. I've seen it."

Poison Ivy sat in the corner watching the ordeal with vague disinterest. "She seems a bit preoccupied to me."

"I don't need the peanut gallery, but thank you anyway, Dr. Isley." Batgirl huffed as she finally got the proper leverage and pushed her trainer off of her.

"Anytime, Sweetcheeks." Ivy chuckled at the joke she seemed to be sharing mostly with herself. "Why don't you have Robin train her? Wouldn't that be a better fight?"

Batman was curt. "I train my protégés myself."

"How thorough of you." Ivy examined her nails.

"I'm sorry, are we boring you?" Batman asked.

"Yes." Ivy nodded vigorously. "That's exactly what you're doing."

"Fine." Batman got up off the mat. "You tag in then. No vines. And Batgirl, I want to see some control. Don't go into it angry."

"Oh no, what possible reason would I have to be angry with her?" Batgirl asked without even a hint of authenticity.

Poison Ivy roused herself from where she sat and started over towards the girl in her usual confident strut. She reached the mat and crossed her arms, waiting for Batgirl to approach.

Poison Ivy was a defensive fighter. She watched and waited for her opponent to tip their hand or make a mistake. But Batgirl knew she had weaknesses. Plenty of them, in fact. For one, she was incredibly cocky. She went into every fight expecting to come out victorious in some grand capacity. Batman had taught Batgirl to settle for small victories. Landing a solid blow every few passes would begin to add up. Batgirl didn't need a knockout blow, she just needed to outlast her opponent, out maneuver her until Ivy got frustrated and started fighting emotionally. The problem was, Batgirl was an emotional fighter, so this would be a battle of tempers as much as one of bodies or minds.

Batgirl moved forward with her hands up in a boxer's stance. She tried a sloppy jab that Ivy dodged rather easily by swaying a few inches to the left. The vigilante moved in a bit closer, trying the same move with her other fist. Again, no contact was made. Ivy smirked and Batgirl moved to make it look like she would swing with her right arm again, but as Ivy made her move to dip out of the way, Batgirl came back with a powerful jab by her left, striking Poison Ivy in the trachea. The woman sputtered and choked.

"Good." Batman praised his protégé.

Batgirl grinned and looked over to her trainer, appreciative for the pat on the back, when she felt a strong leg land a kick in her side. The young vigilante wobbled, but stayed on her feet, turning her attention back to Ivy who did not seem at all happy.

Ivy approached and swung her fist at the girl's head, but Batgirl caught it, using the woman's momentum to flip her over onto her back. Unfortunately, Batgirl didn't even have time to gloat before she felt a wet vine coil around her neck.

"Isley!" Batman shouted. "No vines!"

The green monstrosity dropped from the girl's neck and slithered back into the darkest recesses of the Batcave. Poison Ivy's new suit amplified her connection with the plants to a degree where she no longer had to direct them with her movements, they were simply an extension of her thought process now. Batgirl found these new abilities…unsettling.

"Would you have killed her?" Batman asked the plant queen. "If I wasn't here?"

The green in the woman's eyes began to slowly deescalate. "I just wanted to get her off of me…"

Batman seemed to accept the answer. "I'm sending the two of you out on patrol together tomorrow- as a team. Do you think you can handle that?"


	42. 42

Poison Ivy wasn't…"with" someone. She just happened to frequently share a home with someone and wanted to be around them as much as possible. It's not like she and Harleen braided each other's hair or whatever. Is that what people do when they're "with" someone? Somehow that doesn't seem right…well, anyway, they didn't "cuddle" or sleep in the same bed. Not that Harleen didn't try…Ivy knew she was trying, but it felt…claustrophobic. Like everything was coming at her all at once. Poison Ivy, Pamela Isley and Paula Irving all colliding in a jumble of general discomfort. Harleen sometimes fell asleep next to Ivy but Ivy rarely slept at night, so…no, they didn't really "sleep" in the same bed.

That's not to say that Ivy didn't like Harleen…she did, she liked her a lot. As much as she'd ever liked a human before, Pamela Isley or otherwise. But Ivy had made an error in her calculations- Harley wanted to be a gardener as well, metaphorically speaking. Literally she showed little interest in Ivy's plants. Harleen might want a controlling presence in her life, but she also wanted to be helpful. It was her way.

And now here she was, standing in the doorway, a towel around her body and her blonde hair still damp from the shower. And there Ivy was, sitting on the bed in her pajamas reading a botanical journal. There was something so domestic about their situation and Ivy, frankly, found the whole thing a bit strange. Just how comfortable it felt. It was like a natural progression, like even when Ivy was still in Arkham there had been an unspoken agreement between the two that there would eventually be something- this something. Poison Ivy didn't believe in fate, but if she did, she thought she and Harleen might be an example of it. The domesticity wasn't foreign to Ivy, in fact, she found it relaxing. Poison Ivy thrived on routines. She woke up every morning as the dawn turned to daylight, went about watering her greenhouse and house plants, laid out in the sun, worked in her lab, and then would begin her villainous tasks once the sun had gone down. Now her plants had been taken away. Well, most of them, anyway. The ones that ate people. Paula Irving had a job, just like Pamela used to when she was young. Sure, her credentials were falsified, but it's not like she wasn't qualified. She had a PhD, after all. In a different subject, but a PhD is a PhD. So Ivy would go to work and then come home and sometimes Harley would be there and when she wasn't, Ivy wished that she was. She didn't know why she wanted her to be there, Ivy didn't mind being alone, she just…sometimes…preferred it when Harley was there. And then at night she fulfilled her obligation to Batman.

"I'm sorry." Harley said from the doorway, rousing Ivy from her thoughts.

"For what?" Ivy asked. She knew for what, but she wanted a complete apology.

Harleen sighed and moved towards the bed, sitting down at the end. "I'm sorry I made it sound like you were just something to deal with. Did it…" she ventured. "Hurt your feelings when I said that?"

Ugh. Ivy hated it when she did that, like she was checking to see if Ivy had backtracked on her empathy every three seconds. "It hurt my feelings a little, yes." Ivy admitted, both to appease Harley and because it held some truth.

"Well I'm sorry." Harley repeated, gently placing her hand on Ivy's leg. The younger woman's smile brightened. "I think whatever you gave me really helped. Pretty sure Harley moved out, for the time being at least."

Ivy nodded, genuinely happy to hear that but not wanting to allow Harleen too many victories.

The blonde bit her lip. "I have a question."

Ivy sighed. Harley had A LOT of questions. She leaned back against her pillow, preparing herself for whatever the other woman had in store. "Go ahead."

The blonde laid down on the bed and propped herself up on one elbow, the other hand moved to push Ivy's tank-top off up her stomach. The plant queen flinched, but didn't bat it away.

"How come I've never seen you lift weights?" Harley asked, prompting an expression from Pam that could only be described as 'WTF?' "I'm serious!" Harley laughed. "I've been training for years…sometimes 6 hours a day back when I was competing…" She traced her finger in the divots of Ivy's abdominal muscles. "And no offense, but I mean, you're a total nerd. You wear glasses because you actually need them."

Ivy laughed too. "You're wondering why I look like I was created in a lab by pervy scientists?"

"Honestly, yeah." Harley placed her whole palm on the woman's stomach, aware that's exactly what had happened. "What gives?"

"The body is one side effect I can live with." Ivy tried her best to calm her trigger. "My mutation sped my metabolism, that's all. And that shot I gave you sped yours as well, so you're welcome. Not quite to the same degree, but you could probably ease up on the gym time a little, or maybe increase your caloric intake."

Harleen laughed. "I think I like what's behind door number two." Her laugh faded into a smile. "But you get all your nutrients from the sun, right? It's why you lay out on the back porch in the mornings?"

"I eat real food too, sometimes." Ivy answered, thankful that the girl's hand was still. "All vegetables, though. My system has a difficult time handling anything else."

"Oh…" Harley nodded, her eyes drifting back to the woman's green stomach. "And water…You must like it when it rains."

Ivy smiled. "I do. Yes."

"So you like it when it rains…" Harleen tapped her fingers on the green skin below her hand, mimicking the patter of raindrops. "And you like it when the sun shines…" She opened her palm again and rubbed it in smooth circles.

"What are you…what are you doing?" Ivy asked, her words catching slightly.

Harley smiled up at her, repeating the pattern of tapping and rubbing on her stomach. "On a psychological level I'm showing you that humans can be just as gentle as mother nature. Clinically, I am performing Sensory Integration therapy. Your skin was poisonous to the touch for 31 years, and now- naturally- your nervous system gets a little fried when physical contact is initiated. I'm trying to teach your body a more natural response to the stimuli."

"Oh yeah?" Ivy squirmed under her doctor's touch. "And what is the natural response to this?"

Harleen shrugged. "What do you feel when the sun hits you?"

Ivy closed her eyes for a moment. "Contentedness." She decided.

"Well, then…Pamela." Harley smiled and briefly drew herself up on her elbows to kiss Ivy on the cheek. "How about you let me be your sunshine for a little while."

/

"Remind me what it is we're doing again?" Ivy asked through the Batradio. She hated how Batman put that prefix with everything. The Batmobile, the Batcave, the Batcopter…she assumed this naming system extended into his more personal items as well- Battoilet, Battowel, Battoothbrush…he'd have a goldmine on his hands if he could market it correctly. Batrazor, Batblanket, Batfaucet.

"It's patrol, Ivy. Your version of community service." Batman's garbled voice came over the radio.

Ivy sat down on a ledge and watched as Batgirl sprinted to the edge of the roof and launched onto the next building, the powder blue underside of her cape flapping with her momentum as she landed in a somersault, rolling over and popping up onto her feet. "So far it seems like patrol is just watching Batgirl tire herself out."

"Well tell her to slow down." Batman responded. "I've got something for you. An art gallery downtown, someone just descended through the skylight."

"Oh I don't think so." Ivy moved the radio closer to her mouth so he would really get the message. "I'm not getting in the middle of a lover's quarrel. We both know EXACTLY who is robbing that art gallery."

The radio was silent for a moment before Batman came back with an unconvincing. "We don't necessarily know it's her."

"Yes we absolutely do!" Ivy countered. "I'm not stopping your fuck buddy on your behalf. That is a bridge too far."

The channel was silent again, for longer this time. "You're under contract."

"What? What's goin' on?" Batgirl was suddenly next to Ivy on the roof, panting hard.

Ivy looked at the girl with something between disgust and amusement. "Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to a Labrador Retriever?"

/

Catwoman ducked underneath the last laser separating her from her prize- the 2,500-year-old Bronze statue of the Egyptian Cat God, Bastet. She licked her lips greedily. "End of story…"

"Sorry…" Poison Ivy relished as she and Batgirl were lowered through the skylight on a thick vine. "Just the first chapter."

Catwoman whipped around. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Afraid not." Batgirl tried to match Ivy's confident, menacing tone.

Catwoman laughed. "Oh, Pamela. You sure do know how to pick em'."

"Look, Cat." Ivy crossed her arms. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way involves you leaving that overpriced garden gnome where you found it and quietly slipping away, back to whatever veterinary hospital you crawled out of."

Catwoman was clearly amused by this exchange. "And what's the hard way? Are you going to PSA me to death? I saw your posters by the way," she chuckled "Cute. You sold your soul to get out of Arkham and now you're the figurehead for Gotham's anti-littering campaign. Seems like an appropriate use of your talents."

Ivy's eyes glowed a brighter shade of green as her vines began to maneuver around the lasers towards The Cat.

"Aww…" the thief feigned disappointment. "Is that all the hero back and forth I get? And you were doing so well." She cartwheeled into a mass of lasers, deftly avoiding each one. The sudden movement caused one of the vines to stumble and trip up the alarm. With the lasers off, the three women had free reign of the floor space despite the obnoxious and insistent beeping of the alarm. The police would be there soon.

Batgirl started at a sprint towards the thief.

"Claws!" Ivy yelled over the noise. "Watch out for her-"

Batgirl screeched in pain as Catwoman's pointed gloves ripped through the shoulder of her suit.

Ivy sighed. "Yeah that seems about right…" A vine shot out and wrapped around Catwoman's waist, holding her in place so that Batgirl could exact her revenge. She approached, anger reflected in her wide blue eyes, and raised her fist. The vigilante began the punch, but faltered on the follow through, dropping her arm limply at her side.

"What? Did Batman forget to teach you to throw a punch?" Catwoman smirked.

"No…" Batgirl huffed. "I just happen to know you're too pretty to punch in the face." And with that, she landed a solid blow to the woman's stomach. The Cat doubled over in pain and Batgirl brought her knee up, connecting with the woman's forehead and sending a resounding CRACK echoing through the gallery.

"I thought you said you wouldn't be injuring her face…" Ivy crossed her arms.

Batgirl shrugged. "A bump on the head has been known to do people some good."

"Mhm…" The electric green eyes narrowed. "let's go." Ivy beckoned, climbing back onto her vine.

"No way!" Batgirl protested. "We're waiting to hand her over to the cops."

Ivy shook her head. "Catwoman is coming with us."

Batgirl was confused. "Why?"

"She's not a villain. She's just selfish." Ivy told her, putting her foot down on the issue.

With a groan of annoyance, Batgirl threw the unconscious woman over her shoulder. "Fine. But she owes us."

Ivy smirked. "Indeed she does."


	43. 43

Selina Kyle woke up with an awful headache. She groaned and rolled over in search of a clock. 'What time is it?' and 'Where am I?' were questions that needed answering. Oh, she was in her own loft…in her own bed…in her cat themed pajamas. That's lucky…how did she…? Selina grabbed the folded paper from in front of her alarm clock. In Pamela's well plotted cursive it read:

Kitty Cat,

We hope you had a nice rest, you psycho. You already have like 13 billion cat statues. For the love of Gaia, do something meaningful with your life.

Sincerely,

Ivy

Selina turned the paper over to find another note written in a sloppier scrawl. This one said,

Take the Advil on the table, two pills every six hours. It's an anti-inflammatory, so it should help the swelling go down (duh). I also saw some ice packs in the fridge. Use those. You probably know that already. Sorry. Not for kneeing you in the head. You deserved that.

The second note wasn't signed, but Catwoman knew who it was from. She reached for the pile of Advil on the bedside table, 6 in total, and swallowed them all at once. "Fucking Bats." She mumbled.

/

"Turning her in was absolutely not an option." Ivy postured. "You wouldn't have done it either."

"It wasn't your call." Batman matched her stance.

Ivy laughed. "Sure it was. Next time she tries something, you go and stop her yourself. Then it will be your call. Selina and I have a history same as you, Batman. I'm not turning her in for a petty theft."

"That statue was appraised at 11 thousand dollars!" Batman struggled to keep his tone even.

"Like I said." Ivy repeated like he hadn't heard her the first time. "A petty theft."

The vigilante stared the redhead down for a moment. If looks could kill, Poison Ivy's funeral would be sparsely attended. "Are you OK, Batgirl?" He asked the other woman, not taking his eyes off the former villain.

"Uh…yeah." Batgirl said, nervously watching the exchange in front of her. "Just a little scratch."

"Good." Batman nodded, moving his attention to his protégé. "Do you think you can handle another mission tonight?"

Ivy scoffed. "Would you be asking Robin that question? Or do you not think two women can handle more than one physical exertion in a 24-hour period?"

"Man or woman, an injury is an injury." The Bat growled. "I'm concerned about her well-being, same as I would be about Robin's."

"What an enlightened statement of you, Batman." Ivy sneered.

He narrowed his eyes again. Their gridlock could have lasted forever if not for Batgirl interrupting with "So…what's the mission?"

"It's The Joker." Batman told them. "We caught his goons ferrying in explosive material. Seems like he's going to make a bomb."

"Making a bomb from explosive materials, you say? How preculiar…" Ivy tapped her finger on her chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

Batman was clearly resisting the urge to hit her. "Robin's already at the site."

"And what about The Joker?" Batgirl asked. "Is he there?"

Batman shook his head. "We've got eyes on him at the Iceberg Lounge."

"Well then why the hell don't we go there?" Ivy asked, incredulous. "Cut the head off the snake. And don't you dare say 'because I said so.'"

"Because I said so."

/

"I can't get a visual of the interior, Batman." Robin's voice came over the radio as the other three members of the team sat in the branches of a tree about 100 yards from the warehouse. Robin, evidently, had a better vantage point.

"Hold on." Poison Ivy pressed her hand to the tree's trunk and closed her eyes.

Batman and his protégé watched her in silence through the slits in their cowls. After a few moments, Ivy's eyelids fluttered open and with a cocky smirk she told them, "My friend here says he saw them load at least 600lbs of C4. Cheap explosive, if you ask me."

"But nobody asked you." Batman intoned.

Ivy made a face and then continued. "There are three men inside, none of which are The Joker or his main goons. Those two must be with him at the Iceberg."

"He probably heard we went after Catwoman and thought we were preoccupied." Batgirl peered through the branches at the warehouse. "How do you want to play it?"

"Robin and I will move in first…" Batman began.

"Or…" Ivy hopped down from the tree and threw a handful of seeds onto the ground. "We could try it this way."

The seeds began to sprout into thick, strong vines that slithered at record pace towards the warehouse. The Bats watched as the plants entered the building and gunfire erupted inside. A few moments later, the unconscious bodies of the three men were placed on the grass just outside the metal door, ensnared in the vines.

Ivy was clearly pleased with herself. "All done. You can go get the explosives, Batman. I don't want to put my babies in harm's way."

"Let's go, Batgirl." The Dark Knight grumbled.

"What are we gonna do with the explosives?" The girl asked as she was joined by Robin at the entrance of the warehouse.

"We're going to make sure it's stable, and then we're going to call in the GCPD. Gordon will want to have a look at this."

"Nice job, Ivy." Robin smiled as the plant queen approached. "I was really hoping I wouldn't have to mess with those automatics."

"Just doing my part." Ivy responded facetiously.

Robin didn't seem to mind the sarcasm. He just smiled wider at her and jogged to meet the Bats near the crates of explosives.

/

The site was swarming with police and media within the hour. Vicki Vale desperately wanted an interview with one of the heroes and seemed especially interested in Poison Ivy.

"Go ahead." Batgirl nudged her.

"I'm not doing a television interview." Ivy snapped.

Batgirl rolled her eyes. "You know how babies say no all the time? Did you ever grow out of that phase, or…"

Ivy elbowed the girl in the side.

"Hey! Listen. You can plug your cause, alright? Just assure the people at home that Joker won't be blowing anything up tonight and then pivot to environmentalism."

Vicki was beckoning her over. "Poison Ivy!" She shouted. "Is it true you're one of the good guys now?"

'Good guys.' Ivy hated that term. She trudged over to the blonde with the microphone. "I was never a 'bad guy', Vicki. Only a villain to those among us that disgrace the bounties humbly offered by mother nature."

Vicki arched her brow. "Right. But is it true you're fighting alongside Batman now?"

"Batman has decided to begin taking on my cause for a healthier planet. We now have a common goal that allows us to put aside some of our previously irreconcilable differences." Ivy told her.

"And tonight," Vicki started. "You helped Batman and his team foil The Joker's scheme?"

"We confiscated his explosives," Ivy nodded, "Yes. Bombs are destructive to everyone- plant and human alike."

"Point taken." Vicki smiled, clearly pleased with the relative pleasantness of this exchange. "Will you be assisting Batman on future missions?"

Ivy nodded again. "We've built a coalition specifically to combat pollution and the destructive tendencies of some of my former peers. The Joker, however, is friend to no one, villain or hero. Of that, I can assure you."

/

The Joker sat at the bar staring intently at the television. "They raided my stash…"

"Ya, they sure did, boss." One of his goons agreed.

"Shut-up, Rocco." The Clown snapped. "The Bat is one thing- he and I have a sort of, rapport. An engaging back and forth." His lips stretched into his wide smile. "But the plant bitch will get what's coming to her."

"Yeah, but…Poison Ivy don't have any friends, boss." Rocco reminded him. "So, how ya gonna figure out where ta find er'?"

Joker swatted at him forcefully. "No one has friends in this business, you idiot. We have acquaintances, and here's one of her's now…"

Rocco watched as a fully costumed Catwoman entered the establishment.


	44. 44

Catwoman couldn’t go out as Selina Kyle, not tonight anyway. The goose egg on her head was too obvious. So she pulled on her costume, which without a doubt needed a wash, and headed to the place no one in town would dare mess with her- The Iceberg Lounge.

The cavernous establishment, owned and operated by the notorious Oswald Cobblepott, was where Gotham’s most infamous villains gathered to blow off steam, or in Catwoman’s case, conduct their business transactions. Selina only kept a small portion of the trinkets that she stole, the rest she moved on the black market. True she liked shiny things, but she also liked money, specifically making money.

Selina also didn’t have any alcohol in her house for some reason, and because of her embarrassment at getting her ass handed to her by some newbie and “Hero Ivy”, she wanted to be somewhere that people had to respect her. She had worked a long time to earn her place as a pillar of this "community", and it was times like this that she got to cash in.

So Catwoman sat at the bar alone on a Friday night, nursing her whiskey and wishing she didn’t feel sorry for herself. She couldn’t believe Poison Ivy actually followed through with that bullshit. Like, really? Since when has Ivy ever kept her word? Especially when Batman is involved…On the bright side, Catwoman was a shoe in for this year’s Gotham’s Sexiest Villain, a meaningless award given out by a sleazy publication that she openly disliked. The plant queen had won the last two years in a row…not that it bothered Catwoman…she didn’t need validation from a bunch of sweaty men with more typos in their magazine than a child’s letter to Santa Claus.

“Good evening.” A deep male voice came from behind her.

Selina turned around to find Harvey Dent smiling at her with half of his face, the other half seemed none too pleased. “Is there something I can help you with, Two-Face?”

“Oh please,” the man chuckled, leaning against the bar “call me Harvey.”

“OK, Harvey…” Catwoman took a sip of her drink. “What do you want?”

“Is a conversation too much to ask?” Harvey wanted to know.

“Tonight? Yes. Yes it is.”

Harvey looked her over. “You had a rough go of it lately?”

Selina sighed. “I’m not sure what’s going on here. Are you hitting on me? Look, I don’t want to piss off Big Harv, but the answer is no.”

“That’s not what I wanted.” Harvey sat down on the stool next to her, his good side facing her, much to Catwoman’s relief. “The Joker’s trying to rope me into a poker game.”

“Ah.” Catwoman set down her now empty glass. “And I take it one of your faces doesn’t have a poker face.”

He evidently didn’t get the joke because Big Harv responded with a curt “Joker cheats.”

“Fine then.” Catwoman signaled to the waiter. “Can I get you anything?”

The man settled in. “Whatever you’re having.”

Selina held up two fingers to the waiter.

“So what’s got you down?” Two-Face asked.

“Oh, I believe you’ve misunderstood. We are not friends.” She nodded at the waiter as their drinks were delivered.

Harvey took a sip. “We used to be. Me, you and Bruce.”

Selina nodded somberly. “Yeah, Bruce is kind’ve on my shit list right now.”

Harvey arched his brow, Big Harv seemed uninterested in the exchange. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know Bruce.” Catwoman laughed. “I bet you could guess.”

“Running around on your again?” Harvey asked.

“Something like that.” Selina took a long sip.

Harvey followed suit, swallowing loudly. “Have you seen Pam’s posters?”

Selina smiled despite herself. “How did I know you were going to bring it around to her? Yeah, Pam’s on my shit list too. She and that blonde bimbo she’s hanging around with.”

“Who, Batgirl?” Harvey asked.

“No.” Catwoman shook her head. “Just a little fling she’s having. Sorry to break it to you, Harv, but Ivy likes girls.”

“Ha.” Big Harv laughed. “Not when she was with me, she didn’t.”

Selina emptied her glass again and set it face down on the bar. “OK, Hon. You just keep telling yourself that.” She got up and sauntered towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Harvey asked.

“I called a car.” She told him, not turning back. “As riveting as this conversation is, I don’t want them idling outside on my dime.”

“If you see her, tell her I said hello.” Two-Face said pathetically.

“Oh, I will.” Selina chuckled as she stepped out onto the street. It was approaching 2am and there were very few cars on the road. Selina searched the curbs for a moment before realizing that her car hadn’t arrived yet. Peeved, cold, and more than a little drunk, she waited with her arms crossed over her chest in a childish pout. ‘What the fuck do I pay them for?’ She wondered.

It wasn’t long before a dark town car pulled up alongside her at the curb. “Finally.” She said, walking over to the passenger side window. She knocked and it rolled down for her. “You’re 15 minutes late.” She complained to the driver.

“My apologies, Miss.” A sharp and distinctive voice said whimsically.

In the shadows of the car’s interior, Selina could just make out the glint of bright white teeth. Like a Cheshire cat, the Clown Prince of Crime emerged from the darkness, holding a flower in his outstretched hand.

Catwoman knew she was in trouble even before he squeezed the thing, sending a billow of pink particulates towards her.

‘Shit.’


	45. 45

"You stink." Ivy said bluntly, nudging Harley with her foot at the other end of the couch.

"Aw, thank you." The blonde replied distractedly as she flipped through the TV channels.

"No, I'm serious." Ivy knocked the remote from the girl's hand.

Harley glared at her with an expression far worse than anything the redhead had received from Batman. "Never. Ever. Do that. Again."

"Or what?" Ivy stifled a laugh. "Are you going to slap me with another diagnosis?"

"Ha ha." Dr. Quinzel said pointedly. "Don't test me."

"I have already tested you, and I find the whole thing rather exhausting." Ivy pulled her knees to her chest and continued with her calculation.

"Right." Harley agreed. "Because I beat you like 50% of the time."

Ivy shook her head without lifting her eyes from her paper. "I can't have this disagreement with you again. I can banter all the live-long day, but it's not the day anymore, it's…" She glanced at the clock on the wall, "2:03 am and I'm serious when I say you either need to change or take a shower if you're sleeping here. That thing is filthy."

"Oh, what?" Harley sat up. "You don't enjoy my natural musk?"

Ivy was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on her equation. If she got it right, she could be on her way to an airborne pathogen that temporarily paralyzed her opponents. "You surpassed 'natural' long ago, Daffodil."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're incredibly condescending?" Harleen asked.

"All the time…" Ivy erased a flawed aspect of the formula.

"I can't take a shower until we've done your integration therapy." The blonde was on her feet now, her hands on her hips.

Ivy set her pencil down in frustration. "Why?"

"Because…" Harley began like she was drained from explaining it already. "I'm tired and if I take a shower then I'm going to fall asleep and forget about my obligations."

"Mmm." Ivy resumed her work.

"Oh, I see…" Dr. Quinzel narrowed her eyes. "That's your best case scenario."

Ivy grunted in an obvious dismissal of the deeper conversation.

Harley crossed her arms and shot the redhead another death glare. "Pamela, I'm serious." The other woman didn't acknowledge her, just furiously erased what was on her notebook. "Hey!" Harley snatched the paper away from her. Ivy's green eyes blazed with fury, but Harley didn't back down. "I was talking to you!"

Ivy bristled. "No fun being ignored, is it!"

Harley moved atop the other woman in a precise and powerful motion. She watched as Ivy flinched below her and recognized that not being thrown across the room meant progress had been made. 4 months ago there was no way that Ivy would have let Harley sit on her lap like this, and definitely not if she had done it so suddenly. Harley didn't say anything, just took audible calming breathes, encouraging Pamela to do the same. Her shaking stopped after a few seconds, but she was still unwilling to make eye contact. "It's OK…" Harley told her. "Look at my hands." She held them up to the other woman's face. "I'm not going to touch you with them right now, OK? Can you feel my weight on your thighs?"

Ivy nodded, her jaw clenched like she was getting a shot from the doctor.

"Good…" Harleen smiled. "That's all it's going to be for right now. Pamela? Have I ever hurt you before?"

"Yes."

She rephrased the question. "Has Harleen ever hurt you? Physically?"

Ivy shook her head.

"That's right." Harley smiled again. "Do you feel safe with me?"

Ivy hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, slowly inching her vision up so she was now starring at the gray fabric of Harley's collar.

"Good. Now, do I have permission to touch you with my hands?"

Again, the green woman hesitated, but eventually nodded.

The blonde smiled and massaged her palms up the woman's arms onto her shoulders. "How do you feel?" She asked.

"V…" Ivy's breath hitched as the blonde gently placed her hands on either side of her face. "Vulnerable."

"Mhm…" Dr. Quinzel nodded as she idly traced her thumb over the other woman's cheekbone. "That's sort of a shitty feeling, huh?"

Pamela finally met her eyes in an affirmation.

"Yeah…" Harley nodded again, moving slightly closer. "But vulnerability can be a bit of a double edged sword. It's scary, but can also be kind of nice depending on who you're surrendering to." She pressed her lips to Ivy's and held them there for a few moments. Ivy didn't kiss back; she hadn't expected her to. Harley drew back, but didn't separate completely, just rested her nose against the other woman's. "See? That wasn't so bad." She smiled. "Now, I could go take a shower…but my internal clock is all messed up and I am starving. I am ordering pizza from that horrible 24-hour place on the corner and you're going to pay for it, OK?"

Ivy wrapped her hands around the small of Harley's back and kissed her with more passion than Harley had experienced from her outside of the bedroom, and Harley was on top! 'Breakthrough, breakthrough' the blonde sang in her head to the Blue's Clues theme.

"But you hate that pizza." Ivy reminded her.

"True." Harley agreed. "But I hate that kale salad in your fridge a lot more."

/

Catwoman was experiencing the unique sensation of all her blood rushing to her head. She could faintly make out the sound of a person whistling, but her senses were too overloaded to focus on anything else. It smelled like bleach and battery acid, she felt like she was in a straitjacket, and just by the feeling in her head she was fairly certain that she was hanging upside down. Slowly, the mental fog began to lift and she blinked to bring the room into focus.

The first thing she was able to confirm was that yes, she was hanging upside down. The whistling grew consistently louder, echoing off the metal walls of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. 'Perfect'. Her location was the least of her problems at the moment as she discovered why the smell of bleach was burning her nostrils- she was suspended over a vat of bright green liquid. Acid of some kind, it seemed, judging by the pervasive chemical smell. And she wasn't wearing a straitjacket, she was bound by thick chains that cut painfully into her latex suit.

The whistling suddenly stopped and that all-too-familiar voice cut through the air like a rusted blade. "Why good morning! So glad you could join us."

Catwoman squinted past the chemical fumes, trying to locate her captor.

"Yoohoo! Over here, Princess."

Catwoman could see him now, waving his arms at her from a metal walkway above the tank. 'Foiled by Poison Ivy and then kidnapped by The Joker? This isn't even my story!'

"You're a lot heavier than you look, you know." The clown said, peering down at her with his chin resting on his elbows on the hand railing. Fit as a fiddle, though. That's for sure!"

Catwoman thought she might vomit. Her mouth had been hanging open and it was almost too dry to speak, with a crackle she asked "Why am I here?"

The Joker sighed. "Why are any of us here, really? What's our higher purpose?" He began to strut around, and in his purple suit and spiky green hair, looked a lot like a peacock in the eyes of the bound woman.

"I assume…" Catwoman swallowed, "there's a reason you're torturing me."

The Joker cackled. "Princess, I haven't even touched you yet. I just wanted a chat!"

"Is there any particular reason I'm hanging over a vat of laundry detergent?" She asked.

"Is there ever!" He laughed again, his face contorting horribly as the sound escaped his throat. "This is a special place for me, Kitty. This is where I found my beginning. Where the jokes finally got funny!"

"I think you're confusing sickness with humor." Catwoman grunted, crunching at the stomach in an attempt to get further from the acid.

"Ugh, fine!" The Joker thrust his hands back on the railing. "We'll cut to the chase, you're already beginning to bore me. I need you to direct me to our dear friend Pam. We've fallen out of touch, as of late, and it's breaking my heart."

"What the fuck do you want with Ivy? And why does everyone suddenly care what she's up to?!" Catwoman tried again to sit up, but failed, flopping back down into her original position.

"Well Kitty, a man has certain urges, and there's something about that botanical bodice that just gets me all hot and bothered." Joker grinned, showing every one of his pearly white teeth.

"Somehow I doubt that." Catwomn groaned, a migraine taking up root in her skull. "I might not have a background in psychology, but there's no way this whole mass murderer thing of yours isn't tied in some way to erectile dysfunction."

The chain she was strung up on dropped her a few inches closer to the surface of the poisonous liquid. "I'm The Joker! You don't make jokes about me!"

"Alright, you insecure little fuck!" Catwoman tried her best to keep the panic out of her voice. "Tell me what you actually want with her, and I'll tell you where she is."

The Joker laughed. "I respect your moxie, but you're hardly in a position to bargain, Princess."

"Sure I am." Catwoman spat. "I can guarantee you I'm the only one that knows where she is, and I've got a bonus for you."

"Ooh, a bonus prize?" Joker looked excited. "Gimme gimme gimme."

"You have to let me down first."

"Well where's the fun in that for me?" His eyes gleamed.

Catwoman lay still, 'this might actually be working.' "Well I don't know what you want with Ivy, but if it has anything to do with that cute little doctor she's been entertaining…the one that works at Arkham. You must know her."

Joker quirked an eyebrow. "Blonde, legs go on for days…"

"Well I didn't look that closely," Catwoman tried to ignore the pain where the chain was digging into her. "But yeah, that one. Two for one deal, what do you say? But you have to let me up first."

The clown narrowed his eyes. "No jokes. The jokes are my thing."

"Got it." Catwoman nodded. Slowly, the chain began to raise her so she was eye to eye with him. "I need my feet to be touching the ground." She said.

"So temperamental…" Joker shook his head, but obliged her, pulling her bound form onto the balcony with him and flipping her so she was standing on the metal grate.

"Now cut the chain off."

The Joker shook his head again, this time wagging his finger with a cheeky grin. "That wasn't our deal. You're an escape artist, Kitty, you can handle those chains yourself. Tell me where the girls are."

Catwoman rattled the chains. He was right, she could handle them on her own. 'Let's just celebrate the fact that I negotiated with a known psychopath and not push our luck.' "1510 Flynn St." She told him.

The clown's face contorted once more into his terrifying smile. "Very good princess." He placed his hand on Catwoman's chest and pushed her backwards over the balcony, sending her plummeting into the vat of acid below.


	46. 46

"I'm really not hungry." Ivy assured Harley, who was madly gabbing vegetables out of the fridge.

"If I'm eating, you're eating." Harley insisted. "It's what people do, they eat together."

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Your pizza isn't even here yet."

"Yeah…but your veggies take a while to make." Harley smiled over her shoulder at the woman who'd moved from the couch to the table.

"Harleen, I honestly don't care how they're prepared. I could eat them raw. Now I'm going to change because I no longer have a need for this outfit." She referred to her Bat-approved bodysuit. "I suggest you do the same."

Harley shook her head. "No way, Jose. I'm better at everything in this outfit. Even cooking."

Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose, remembering the silent promise she'd made to herself not to act like Harleen's mother. "Can you at least take that silly cowl off?" She asked.

"Not a chance." The girl winked.

"You took it off earlier…" Ivy grumbled, pushing her chair back from the table.

"Well that's cuz' I didn't want'cha cheatin' on me." The blonde giggled, throwing some unevenly sliced vegetables in the pan.

Pamela trudged up the stairs. "You're going to have to take it off when the pizza guy comes!" She yelled back over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Red." Harley muttered to herself, wearing the kind of delirious grin that only exists after midnight. She plopped some coconut oil into the pan with a satisfying sizzle. 'Don't'cha think it's a little weird that Red only eats veggies? I mean, she is a giant veggie, so…ain't that like…cannibalism?'

"Harley, let's think for a moment, shall we?" Harleen spoke to her like she was slow. "What are plants grown in?"

'Uh…dirt.'

"Right, but sometimes [blank] is used to further fertilize the soil, right?"

'Ooh, ooh! What is…fertilizer!" She answered like she was on jeopardy.

"It's compost, you dunce. Plants eat plants all the time, and anyway, she's not a plant, she's a hybrid."

'Alright there, genius. We're getting' awfully specific about a lady that's got green skin. There ain't exactly protocol for stuff like this.'

"Whatever, Harley, she's right. It's time to take off the suit. You've had your fun and you did a great job, but it's really time for me to take the reins."

Harley stirred the vegetables furiously. "Will you quit playin' this game with me? We both know this ain't even a real psychological condition. You just want an excuse ta be immature sometimes!"

"For who to be immature sometimes?" Ivy asked, coming up behind the blonde at the stove. "Who are you talking to?"

"Oh jus' Dr. Jekyll." She told the redhead with a slight frown.

Pamela's body tensed at that. "OK, Daffodil. How about we turn off this stove…" She maintained eye contact as she turned the dial, shutting off the flame. "And let's get this mask off you…" She pulled off Harley's Batgirl cowl. "There. There's my Harleen." She cooed. The former villainess watched as tears began to collect in the blonde's eyes. "I'm guessing this is an example of vulnerability, right? How about you surrender to me and not Harley, OK? I'm not sure she has your best interests in mind."

The blonde nodded, lunging forward to kiss the other woman.

Ivy stopped her. "We're not going to do that right now. Where's your medication, Harleen?"

The girl pouted. "I finished it all."

"How long ago?" Ivy asked, clearly worried.

"Earlier today."

Ivy was relieved. She didn't know much about the ins and outs of psychiatric care, from the doctor's stand-point that is, but she knew about dosing methods, and only missing a day wasn't the end of the world. Harleen was just tired and frazzled and a missed dose wasn't helping. "Well why didn't you tell me, Sweet Pea? I'm going to get you more, OK? It's in my lab, though, so I'm going to have to leave you and Harley alone for a little while."

"Batgirl. Harley is my secret identity."

What concerned Ivy was that Harley was speaking as if she were a little kid playing dress up rather than an actual vigilante- which, despite the funny costume, was a very dangerous job that needed to be taken seriously. She'd have to bring that up with Batman tomorrow night… "Batgirl." She nodded and placed a kiss on the girl's forehead before walking quickly to her make-shift lab.

Harleen wiped her tears and cursed herself for breaking down in front of Pamela again. She was supposed to be the helpful one! God she was a shitty therapist. And after that breakthrough today? How was Pamela ever going to trust her judgment if Harleen kept relapsing to adolescence? Stupid, stupid, stupid, Harley! Harleen had given her other half Batgirl for a reason- to provide Harley with an outlet and a purpose. To create her own Olympics by helping people. She had the physical skillset for it, after all. But Harley was clearly abusing the olive branch.

/

The Joker ripped through the streets of Gotham City laughing out the window as he went, paying very little attention to the night life around him. He sped around a corner, almost colliding head-on with a car going to opposite direction. The driver flipped him off and got out of his car, chasing The Joker down the street. Joker slammed on the breaks, his tires screeching as he popped out of the driver's seat before the vehicle had stopped moving completely. He aimed his gun at the other man's head and took a quick shot, sending the man crumpling to the pavement.

"I suppose that wasn't very funny…" The Clown remorsed. "Ah well." He grinned and gleefully ran back to his car, clicking his heels in the air just before he reached it. He couldn't for the life of him remember why he had a vendetta against Poison Ivy, but no matter, the wheels were already in motion! And she didn't have much of a sense of humor, which was an offense punishable by death in Joker's book. Ah well, he'd figure it out when he got there.

/

A pale hand shot up from the depths of the glowing green liquid. It found purchase on the edge of the vat and worked in tandem with the second hand to pull the body up on the side, to the small metal grate that served as a platform above the acid. What remained of the black latex costume was singed and discolored, only covering the most intimate places on Catwoman's body. The mask had been burned off altogether, leaving a fear-stricken Selina Kyle convulsing on the vat's platform. She shook and spasmed like there were invisible Taser wires connected to every nerve in her body. Her usually thick black hair was falling out in places, worse than that, it appeared to have been dyed purple on one side. Her healthy olive complexion was gone, replaced with a pervasive and altogether disturbing paleness like The Joker himself.

When the convulsions stopped, the vomiting began. She felt as though she'd been hit by a nuclear bomb, her insides all wanting to turn out. When her stomach had been rid of all its contents, Selina began to laugh. A cruel laugh aimed at her misfortune. Tears of joy and sorrow rolled down her cheeks and through the grate down to the acid below where they sizzled as they hit the surface.

"I'm gonna kill him," she wheezed between tears and fits of laughter. "I AM GOING TO KILL HIM."


	47. 47

"Ivy?" Harley yelled from the kitchen table. She had been told to stay put and specifically not to play with the stove. "Red, can I make hot chocolate?"

Ivy didn't answer. It wasn't easy to hear what was going on in the kitchen from her lab.

"Hot chocolate is easy, Red won't mind." The blonde hopped off of the wooden chair and turned the burner back on, filling the teakettle with water from the tap. She crossed her arms over the bat symbol on her chest and waited, watching the flames lap at the bottom of the metal cylinder.

She smiled as she heard it whistle and shut the burner off again. "Only YOU can prevent forest fires." She reminded herself, taking a mug from the cupboard and filling it with two heaping scoops of the hot cocoa mix.

Harley was just about to sit back down at the table with her beverage when the doorbell rang. The pizza guy…but shit! She still had her Batgirl costume on. Harley looked around the room and noticed one of Pamela's oversized night shirts laying over the couch. She must have brought it for her from upstairs.

Gratefully, Harley pulled the white fabric over her head, electing to leave her gray and blue suit on underneath. The shirt was more like a dress so to the pizza guy it would probably just look like she was wearing leggings. She tightened her pigtails and grabbed Pam's wallet from the table, or 'Paula's wallet', she should say. Harley quickly looked back over her shoulder towards the hallway, worried that Ivy would walk out with her natural green skin tone. She couldn't hear anyone approaching, so she twisted the door's handle and pulled it open.

The first thing Harley saw was the barrel of the gun. The moonlight glinted off of its shiny surface, making it stand out against the black backdrop of the night. Harley's eyes followed the gun up to the purple glove, and then to his suit and finally his face, which glowed as eerily as his weapon.

"Hello Dr. Quinzel." The Joker sneered. "I was feeling a little down, thought I might drop by for a midnight session."

Yeah…Batgirl might have been a better choice for this altercation. Harleen cleared her throat, trying to keep her hand from shaking. "Good evening, Mr…Joker. How did you, umm…"

"Find you?" The Clown guessed. "Well first I found a kindred spirit in a mutual acquaintance." He chuckled. "Sweet girl. She was sorry she couldn't make it."

"Is that right?" Dr. Quinzel nodded slowly.

"Well I'd love to compliment your home, but I'm afraid I can't see much standing here on the porch. Aren't you going to invite me in?" Joker grinned.

"Oh, well…" Harley awkwardly took a sip of her cocoa in an attempt to look more in control of the situation. "I was actually just heading to bed. If you're serious about scheduling a session, I would absolutely be open to putting something on the books tomorrow, maybe."

"A cup of sugar before bed?" The clown pushed passed the doctor into the house, knocking her momentarily off kilter. "Naughty girl."

Harleen gathered herself best she could, setting her mug down. "I'm sorry, Joker, but this is highly inappropriate. I know you're not currently in Arkham, but technically you should be."

The clown wasn't paying attention to her, he was studying the room around him.

"We have to maintain some semblance of professional boundaries, otherwise, when you get back to Arkham, I'll have to reassign you to another psychiatrist." Dr. Quinzel told him.

"Professional boundaries…" Joker repeated, tasting the words in his mouth. "Help me out here because I'm afraid I must be slow. You mean that we can't have contact outside of Arkham?"

"That's right." Harleen nodded. "Now if you wouldn't mind, I would really like to get to bed."

"Professional boundaries…" He said again with a devious cackle. "Do those only apply to me?"

"Nope." Harley shook her head, sweating a little. "It's a mandate all psychiatrists live by."

Something caught Joker's attention. "Pammy, so nice of you to join us." He was smiling over Harley's shoulder. "Look at you girls! Two peas in a pod."

Harley turned around guiltily to see Ivy standing at the entrance of the hallway wearing only a rose colored shirt in the same style as Harley's. Getting rid of her plants also meant getting rid of Ivy's early warning system. She had no way of knowing what she was walking into.

"I feel like this is a bit of a double standard." Joker laughed, pointing the gun at Harley.

Ivy took a protective step forward, but Joker wagged his finger. "Ah, ah, ah. That's not how this is going to work. You see this here?" She shook the gun. "This means I am in charge."

The plant queen crossed her arms and leaned casually against the doorframe. "What do you want?" She asked with the kind of cool disinterest Harleen wished she could pull off.

"Tell me, my Harlequin…" He turned his attention back to the blonde. "What does she have that I don't? Tits?" He cackled. "But I have toys, Princess! and do you know what toys and tits have in common?"

Neither woman responded.

"No? Nothing? Nobody? Fine! I'll tell you. They were originally made for kids, but dad's the one that ends up playing with them!" He opened his mouth in a gaping grin and looked from the blonde to the redhead, waiting for their reaction.

Ivy rolled her eyes in annoyance and Harley tried not to flinch each time the gun jerked in his grip.

"There are a lot of things I have that you don't." Ivy told him. "We'd be here all night if we were forced to name them. So how about you save us all some time and piss off?"

The Joker smiled thinly, his eyes clouding over with frustration. "You remind me of another pretty girl I had a run in with tonight. Things didn't end too well for her. It's a shame, really. I'm sure Batsy will be vewy angwy." He mocked.

Harley saw a spark light in Pamela's eyes. There was an unspoken conversation going on between she and The Joker that Harley had been left out of. "Did you…did you hurt someone tonight, Joker?" Dr. Quinzel asked.

Joker shrugged. "I'm afraid it was necessary. Pammy here ruined my plans. How was I supposed to know cats can't swim?"

"You killed Catwoman because Batman and I found your C4?" Poison Ivy's voice was higher than usual, almost shrill.

"Yes, well…unfortunately, that little pussy cat was the only one who knew where you two were shacking up, and I just had to see it for myself. I mean, I have seen it, many times- but that was just fantasy." He gleamed. "The real thing is so much better. And might I add, holy hypocrites, Batman!"

"It would be in your best interest to leave now, Joker." Ivy intoned as a vine began to crawl of out of the darkness of the hallway behind her. Harley recognized it as a more formidable variation of the plant that lived on Ivy's bedside table in the master bedroom.

The Joker took a shot at Harley's feet and the blonde jumped to avoid the bullet with a yelp of fear. "If that thing gets any closer to me, I will actually look where I'm shooting." He said, his smile sagging slightly, betraying the anger that lived behind it.

"Please Joker." Harley's tone was desperate. "What do you want?"

"Well you on your knees would be a pretty picture…" He winked.

Ivy's eyes glowed a brighter shade of green and Harleen knew that things were about to head downhill fast, so she attempted to take charge. "Pamela already used that line and I didn't like it when she said it either. I think it's fair to say that sexual favors are off the table. If you really did kill Catwoman, then Batman is probably on his way here right now to get revenge. You know nothing happens in Gotham without his knowledge."

"What a shame." The clown looked legitimately disappointed. "She's got a mouth on her. I would have trained that out immediately, she'd have been my obedient little bitch."

"Pamela!" Harley yelled as Ivy raised her hand. "Don't. I'm fine." Dr. Quinzel watched as Ivy's shoulders started to shake slightly. "Do you know why Batman always spares your life, Joker? Because he believes that everyone is worthy of a second chance. But there are some things that are irredeemable, even by his standards." Harley pulled her nightshirt over her head, revealing the Batsuit underneath. "Killing Catwoman and Batgirl in one night? I think that would officially brand you a lost cause."

Joker cocked his head to the side, taking in this new development with a curious mind. Harley could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before his face broke out into a devilish grin. "You really have betrayed your kind, my Poison Apple." Although he was clearly talking to Pam, his dark eyes remained locked on Harley's. "You run around in tights like the rest of them…pretending you're a hero. But you're not a hero, are you? Heroes are weak. They live by codes that put them at a natural disadvantage. Being a hero hacks away at your abilities, it handicaps you. Decreases your control…" His lips curled upwards.

Harleen caught a glimpse of Ivy over the clown's shoulder. She was clenching her fists in a rhythm, her head twitching on her neck.

"Although maybe you are a hero…I mean; you've given up everything you believe in for some…human." He sneered. "This one here," he waved the gun at Harley, "she tamed you. She rehabilitated you." He laughed. "I guess Arkham's program really is effective, huh? They're doing good work over there. All of the experimental treatments, the injections, the restraints…believe me, I went through them too. Poking and prodding, trying to make you into something that you're not."

Pamela's eyes were closed and she was clearly using every trick Harleen had taught her to stay calm.

"Why does that sound so familiar?" He glanced over at Ivy for a moment, obviously happy with the effect this was having on her. Harley opened her mouth to try and soothe Pam, but Joker pushed the gun closer to her and gave her a warning look. "We hear things, you know." He continued. "We Arkham elite. Little bits and bobs about everybody. And do you know what I heard about you?" He paused for a dramatic moment. "I heard some professor over in Seattle seduced his naughty student and fucked the love of plants into her…and I heard she liked it. Was that you, Pammy?" He snickered. "Did you take his wood?"

Harley could feel it coming before it happened. Ivy reacted suddenly, her vine shooting out in a b-line towards Joker's outstretched arm. It made contact with a loud THWAP, but the sound of plant hitting skin was overpowered by the gunshot.


	48. 48

Coach had specifically instructed Harley not to look at the leader board, but she couldn't resist. It was so close she could feel it in her palms, the cold metal of the thick medallion that would be hanging from her neck. The gymnasium was silent aside from the occasional flash of a camera. Harley clapped the excess chalk from her hands and rubbed them down her legs, reminding each muscle that they had a specific job to do. She shook her calves out, shifting from one leg to the other, rolling her shoulders back and lolling her neck from side to side. Harley was ready. She knew she was ready. All that remained was to simply do.

Harley stepped up to the end of the runway, starring down the springboard and vault opposite her. She went through the moves in her head, projecting an image of herself completing the perfect vault. Sticking the landing and seeing her name move to the top of the leader board. The judges gave the green light telling her they were ready and the world slowed. It was just she and the vault. The chalk suspended in the air, the smell of sweat and blisters, failure, success, and polished ponytails- the smell of a gymnastics meet. One thing stood between Harley and an all-around National Championship and her muscles twitched in anticipation.

She took a deep breath, held her arms at her sides, and started at a sprint down the runway, transitioning from a run to a round-off cartwheel onto the springboard, mounting the vault from a handspring position and tucking her arms close to her body as she twisted through the air in a lay out. Her legs were straight as they rotated over her shoulder one last time and stuck firmly on the mat. She wobbled slightly, her right leg wanting to jut out and steady herself, but she held it there in line with her left, willing her body to be still.

The smile spread over Harley's face before she raised her hands to present. She had performed a text book vault. A perfect vault. Harley Quinzel was a national champion and she knew it.

/

The Joker's words clawed their way into Poison Ivy's mind. She could feel herself slipping away, the anger building up inside her like he was filling a gas tank and lighting a match...and then she turned. It was inevitable. Joker knew it, Harley knew it, Ivy knew it.

The vine shot towards him in record time, but she made a mistake. Her judgment was clouded by rage and so instead of going for the gun, she went for the man holding it. She heard the shot, but it took her a few moments to sort out what had happened. Harley was lying on her back, motionless, while Joker writhed around on the ground laughing.

Something like the word "no" escaped Ivy's throat without her knowledge as she crossed the room towards the girl, ignoring the psychopath to her left. Ivy saw the blood before she saw her face. It was seeping out the hole in the waist of her gray costume. The wound was perfectly centered roughly four inches below her navel. Ivy dropped to her knees at the girl's side. Harley's eyes were shut tightly, her face contorted in pain, her neck arching backwards and her jaw clenched.

"Where'd he get me, Red? Am I…am I bleeding?" She asked through gritted teeth.

Ivy's hand pressed questioningly at the wound, causing a thick river of blood to escape it.

"What are you…?" Harley's jaw clenched again in pain before she could finish, her eyes flitting open and locking on Ivy's now bloody hand. "Where'd he get me?" She repeated. "Ivy…" her bright blue eyes were wide with fear. "Am I gonna die?"

Ivy was kicked upside the head before she could answer. She groaned in pain as she lay on her side, faintly aware that The Joker had followed through with his kick like a ballerina would with his trademark smile plastered on his face. She tried to pull herself up despite the pain in her jaw and her blurred vision, but Joker grabbed her by the neck and shoved her onto her back.

"Be a good girl for me, Pammy." The Clown sneered.

And then it wasn't The Joker she was seeing anymore, it was Jason Woodrue. There he was, hunched over her, restraining her. She could see the room and the light and the leather straps…and as Joker pressed the gun to her cheek, it was the syringe she saw, and the jack-O-lantern grin.

Joker pistol-whipped her, sending a mist of blood spewing from her mouth. If she were an average human, that would have knocked her out, but Poison Ivy's unique physiology lent itself to a staying power that she often resented. She couldn't make a solid connection with her plant, not enough to direct its movements precisely enough that she wouldn't have her head blown off.

"Wuh…why are you…duh…doing this?" She asked, fighting through the fog and the sharp pain in her jaw to find the words.

The Joker's lips stretched into a look of sick satisfaction. "To prove a point."

Ivy thought it must be a hallucination, but above the points of his green hair she could see the buds of yellow daffodils, like they had sprouted right from his head. Then the flowers moved towards him- downwards on top of his head with a loud crash. The glass of the green vase splintered around him as he fell forward on top of Ivy.

A woman stood before them, skin pale, clothes tattered…but her eyes, her eyes were the same- green and yellow, even more pronounced now against her iridescent complexion. The ghost of Catwoman.

She grabbed The Joker by the neck of his coat and pulled him off of Ivy, taking his shoulders in her hands and slamming him onto the ground over and over again, his head smashing against the hard wood each time. The sounds he was making…it was like he was attempting to laugh…but was choking instead.

Ivy reached forward and grabbed a piece of broken flower vase off the floor and handed it to the apparition, who knew instantly what was meant by the gesture. Catwoman cut across his neck at a labored pace so any bit of him that was still conscious would feel the pain of the glass ripping through his skin and slicing his arteries.

Selina watched as the light drained from his eyes along with the blood through his neck. "She needs medical attention." The Cat muttered, not lifting her eyes.

Harley! Ivy felt nauseous when she moved, but she did so as quickly as she could, crawling over the shards of broken glass to the blonde's shaking form.

"Pam…" Harley reached towards her, grabbing her by the shirt. The trickle of blood had turned into a pool. The splotch on her costume had spread from the wound up to her bat symbol, giving the usually yellow wings a crimson tint. "I think the bullet went all the way through."

Ivy nodded as she could see the bullet lodged in the floorboards behind her.

"Where's that ointment you have that clots blood?" Catwoman asked, now looking at Harley over Ivy's shoulder.

"M…medicine cabinet." Ivy answered, unable to lift her gaze to fully acknowledge Selina. Ivy heard her footsteps disappear quickly down the hallway.

"I think your jaw is broken." Harley cringed to ignore her own pain.

Ivy just nodded and Catwoman returned with the ointment, holding it out to Ivy who wouldn't take it.

"Ivy!" Selina yelled to get her attention.

The green woman just stared blankly at the injured woman below her.

"Jesus Christ, do I have to do everything myself?" Selina asked as she emptied most of the bottle into Harley's wound.

Harleen writhed in pain, arching her back at the stinging of the liquid, but that's all she could do, her lower body remained motionless on the ground.

It was Catwoman who first noticed it. "Ivy, I don't think she can move her legs." She intoned, watching as the girl's eyes shot open in terror. Ivy didn't respond. "Goddamn it, Pamela!" Selina slapped her in her already broken jaw. "Get your shit together! I don't think your girlfriend can move her fucking legs!"

Ivy blinked as she watched Selina reach out and tap from Harley's thigh down to her knee. "Can you feel that?"

"No!" tears streamed down the girl's face. "I can't feel my legs…I can't feel my legs…"

Catwoman glanced over at Pam whose normally attentive green eyes were cloudy. "OK." The brunette turned her attention back to Harley. "We're going to get you to a hospital." She slid her arm behind the younger woman's neck, but when the other went to complete the fireman's carry, Ivy slapped her hand away.

"It's a spinal cord injury." She said, her tone calm and even though her jaw was now blatantly askew. "Carrying her like that risks further damage. She's still lucid and her skin, although slightly discolored, is not alarmingly pale or cold to the touch. The ointment ensures she's not going to bleed out. We're going to call for help and get her to the hospital on a proper stretcher."

Both Harley and Catwoman beheld the green woman's tranquility strangely, but Catwoman nodded none-the-less and went to the landline on the counter.

"Don't call 911, call Bruce." Ivy said.

Selina turned around slowly. "…You…you know?"

"Dial the number." Ivy commanded as she raised herself off of her knees.

"Where are you going?" Harley asked frantically.

"To reset my jaw." Ivy told her.


	49. 49

"She's out of surgery now." Bruce said, hoping to rouse Ivy's interest. She sat at the window on a folding chair, blankly surveying the grounds of the hospital. She didn't answer him, or even acknowledge his presence.

"She's awake." He elaborated. "Selina's in there now, but I think she might rather see you."

"Mmm." Ivy nodded, not offering him much else.

"I'm sorry that we had to restrain you." Bruce offered, coming farther into the room. "You were being reckless."

"Mmm." Ivy nodded again. "I am a criminally insane psychopath, after all."

Bruce crossed his arms. "Is this a pity party?"

"I'm not one of your kids." Ivy muttered through the side of her mouth, her movement being restricted by the temporary brace the doctor's had implanted to help her jaw grow back together. "Don't talk to me like I'm some moody teenager you're taking under your wing."

Bruce shrugged. "I'm treating you like you're acting."

"I'm acting like a woman who shot her g…her psychiatrist in the spine." Ivy pressed her face closer to the glass, tucking her knees to her chest and gently rocking back and forth.

"You didn't shoot her."

Ivy shrugged. "I missed. I had a chance to take the gun away, but I wanted to kill him instead. I missed and she got shot. Ergo, I shot her."

"That's an awfully big jump." Bruce told her, his voice softer than the one he used for Batman.

"Perhaps." Ivy rested her chin over her elbows as she moved in a subtle rhythm back and forth. "Do you blame yourself for Selina's accident?"

Bruce thought for a moment, watching the woman's red hair sway with her momentum. "I do."

"Batman or Bruce?" Ivy followed up.

"Both."

The woman nodded. "And so you see, sometimes the shoulders of blame and responsibility are irrational."

Bruce took another step closer to her. "Blame and responsibility are a part of the human condition. You feeling that gives credence to Dr. Quinzel's work. She would want to hear that."

"It's responsibility I feel." Ivy told him. "And responsibility is primal. It's a calling. A station in life…few among us are ever given real responsibility, but I have been given it in spades. A higher calling was thrust upon me. A responsibility far greater than Harleen Quinzel, and yet she is what occupies my mind. It's a distraction."

"You can have both. I promise you can."

"Oh? Do you have both?" Ivy chuckled. "Seems your main squeeze is now just as broken as mine."

"They are consenting adults, Pamela." Bruce's tone was growing steadily more bitter. "They know who we are. They wear costumes same as us. What happened to Harleen doesn't make you any less of a hero. You have made incredible progress."

Ivy laughed- a sound devoid of humor. "I was already a hero, Batman. I was a hero to the voiceless- the plants at your feet that are mercilessly bulldozed without a second thought. The earth itself as it is ravaged by the very life which it sustains. It gives, selflessly, only asking for gentleness in return, and yet, you abuse it." She dropped her knees and turned to him, her gaze searing. "You sick, utterly insignificant meat sacks. I am the physical embodiment of Mother Nature, standing before you, having blossomed from homosapien simplicity to the goddess you see here." She spread her arms wide, showing him her elegant form. "And now you ask that I give more of myself? That I forfeit my true calling to you- a man, and his cause? The bane of my very existence. What have you done to deserve me?" Her words spilled from her lips rapidly, desperately. "Or are you not asking. Will you just take. Fall in line with the others like you and break me just because you can." Ivy was standing now. "I possess more power in my fingertip than you or your entire species, on this world or the next. You louse. You parasite. I am the master of this domain. You will not ravage me!"

20 minutes later, Poison Ivy was back in her straitjacket having been admitted to the psych ward of the hospital on Batman's recommendation.

/

Harley's eyes blinked open on the morning of the third day of the rest of her life. She scanned the room quickly. It was the same hospital suite she'd woken up to the day before. Furnished and altogether pleasant compared to the usual digs. She supposed this was more of a recovery room.

"Morning." Selina Kyle murmured from her chair, her eyes heavily lidded with sleep.

"Where's Pamela?" Harley asked immediately.

Selina tussled her now multicolored hair, the purple in it making her look like she played bass in a sub-par band. "She's presently indisposed."

Harley tried sit up further, but faltered when she attempted to pull her hips flush with the headboard, her legs wouldn't respond. 'Oh…right…' Harley thought she might cry again. Her face was already puffy from crying herself to sleep the night before, but she still didn't look half as bad as Selina who had essentially been dipped in radioactive bleach. None of them had made it out of that night unscathed. A knot began to form in the blonde's stomach. "Does she…does she not want to see me?"

Selina sighed, a look of pity laced into her expression. "Isley is a tough nut to crack."

Harleen glanced somberly down at the mounds of her legs below the blanket. "She doesn't want to see me." Her eyes narrowed slightly, hardening her features. "I'm just a broken human. She doesn't even think I'm worthy of her time."

"OK, hey, slow down there." Selina sat forward. "Pam went a little off her rocker. Batman put her in the psych ward. Let's not start a fucking pity party."

Harley laughed cruelly. "Oh, I don't get a pity party? Last time I checked I found out I was paralyzed only 72 hours ago. Fairly certain I can cry if I want to."

Selina crossed her arms. "You can cry all you want. I wouldn't take that away from you. I have a difficult time crying now due to the poisoning of my tear ducts, but whatever. Go ahead. Cry."

"OK, how about you WALK to a pharmacy and get yourself some eye drops." Harleen spat.

"I'm sorry." Selina told her with a surprising degree of authenticity. "I just…look, please don't give up on Pam right now, alright? I know she's a bitch and I hate that she's not here for you right now, both because it means I have to be and because I know it fucking sucks waking up to this new reality all alone."

Harley looked into the other woman's face. "What happened to you?"

"You know what happened to me." Selina murmured.

Harley watched her body language slowly grow more guarded. "No, I mean…when you were in there. What happened?"

"You're not my therapist." Selina caviled. "You were supposed to be hers."

Harleen's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying," the brunette began, the vexation evident in her expression, "that if I had to pick a villain here, it would be you. Ivy is talking to herself again. The last time she did that was after the Two-Face thing. I might hate her fucking guts, but whether I like it or not, Pamela Isley is my friend. She has to be. It's just me and her in this nasty fucking city. Me, her, and a lot of men who think that this whole thing is theirs. She may very well be the worst person on the planet now that Joker's gone, but I'll tell you what, if this city were to suddenly break out in to some civil war, she wouldn't even have to ask me. I'd just be there, fighting alongside her. Why? Because I don't have to like her to respect her, and I imagine she feels the same way about me. She gave me a serum to make me better, and I can guarantee you it's the only reason I survived my little bath." Catwoman paused to regard the blonde's bewildered expression. "I don't respect you. You went for a quick fix and played her stupid fucking games. And yeah, of course she wanted you! She's pretty fucking repressed if you ask me. She's never been rejected by a man, and she never will be, she's got those phera-fucking-whatevers. I've never seen her actually let herself be with a woman, even though, like…duh. Then I get to her house the other night and I see her in a nightshirt. A fucking nightshirt! I've known Ivy for…10…10 years now, and I have literally never seen her in anything but her Arkham uniform or her leotard, aside from her occasional disguises, I mean. That's insane to me that she was that comfortable with you. Absolutely insane. It's unprecedented, Doogie. Look, I don't know what Joker did to her before I got there…but it sent her flying off her rocker again. Please. As her therapist or as her…I don't know, nightshirt buddy, save her from this fucking spiral. Because from the look of it, she's going down hard." Selina stood up and brushed off her oversized sweatshirt. "I'm going to vomit now because I've essentially been diagnosed with something amounting to radiation poisoning and I had the audacity to think I could drink some orange juice this morning."

Harley hadn't realized she was crying. She sloppily wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and tried not to look at Catwoman as she left.

Selina stopped and glanced back at the girl. "Harleen." She said, her voice a little softer. "This…" she patted the younger woman's leg, "is absolute bullshit. I am so sorry that this happened to you. So fucking sorry."

Harley slowly raised her glassy blue eyes to meet the other woman's. "I can't walk…" she whispered.

The brunette nodded. "I know. You were an incredible athlete, Harleen. It was an honor to try and kick your ass. I'm still waiting for that fair fight. Me vs. you, no vines." She smiled kindly. "And you absolutely deserved a spot on that Olympic team."

"How do you know that?" Harley asked.

"Because I watched the tape on your national championship." Catwoman laughed. "I wanted to see what I inspired."

"And?"

"And…that vault was fucking perfect. Let's think of this whole thing as temporary, OK? I'm a cynical motherfucker, anyone could tell you that, but I would like it if you held out some hope. Alright, Batgirl?"

Harleen sniffed. "Alright…"

/

"They can bury me in the ground as deep as they like," Ivy mumbled, "but I'll grow back. We always grow back. Don't we, baby?" She smiled at the rosebush blossoming just outside her window.


	50. 50

Selina stood before the mirror in her hospital suite's private bathroom. The staff let her roam around the wing, which was nice of them she guessed, but they took blood at 3 hour intervals and she was really supposed to leave her IV in. It was providing her the necessary fluids that her body was readily expelling. It had been 5 days since her dunk, and her skin showed no signs of returning to its former healthy olive complexion. Robin had been kind enough to bring her back the makeup she'd requested from the store since Selina herself was not allowed to leave the hospital, only her room and only to visit either Harleen or Ivy. Ivy had, of course, refused to actually see her, and Harleen was a mess most the time, so their visits hardly helped to cheer Selina up. Plus, she really didn't know the girl all that well. They had met once…well, twice actually, but once as Selina and Harleen…and the only thing she really learned about her was that she was a psychiatrist who abused the doctor/patient relationship and also a former gymnast. A talented gymnast…but at this point that hardly mattered.

Selina held the dark foundation in her hand, she'd already exfoliated and moisturized, and in doing so noticed that every square inch of skin on her body was hyper-sensitive, like her nerve endings were exposed to the air or something. Putting makeup on probably wasn't the best thing for her physical health, but her mental health required some relief from the abomination that stared back at her from the mirror.

She poured some of the thick liquid on her hand and began to apply it to her cheeks, evening it out with a soft foam sponge. She would need to do this to every surface of her dermis every day for the rest of her life. And that realization made her…tired. She wanted to be mad. She would eventually be mad. But right now she was just tired. Even more strange, she couldn't bring herself to blame Poison Ivy for any of it. The Joker was already gone; Selina had taken care of that…so Ivy should have been the next best thing. But Selina felt oddly protective of her, and that's how she knew she was close to losing her shit. Is this how Pamela had felt after her transformation? Selina felt less than human, but Ivy actually was less than human. True she had learned how to manipulate her skin color, but how long had that taken? How many days, months or years had she lived as an outcast? Suddenly her reclusive tendencies made sense to Selina. In fact, maybe Ivy had the right idea…and that was officially the most depressing thought that had ever crossed her mind.

Selina wanted to cry, but her body wouldn't let her. So she sobbed without tears, letting her shoulders shake as the sadness came in waves.

/

"Nurse!" Harleen yelled from her bed. No one came. Her stupid nurse-summoning button was broken and for the life of her she couldn't project her voice far enough to get anyone's attention. 'Gee, it's a good thing I'm not having a seizure or something.'

It was day 6 and Harley was getting restless. She'd made a decision. "Nurse!" she yelled again. But if was Bruce who answered the call. Harleen acknowledged, for what felt like the 100th time, that he was very handsome, and then moved on. "I want to get up."

Bruce shook his head. "Spinal cord injury. You have to stay put."

"No." Harleen huffed. "I don't HAVE to do anything. Please. I can't be in here anymore. I need a break. Please. Let me be useful."

"You want to see Ivy?"

"I want to see Ivy."

Bruce crossed his arms and Harley decided that she liked his black sweater. "We need to debrief first."

"Debrief what?" Harleen asked. "Joker tracked us down for retribution over our raid by trying to kill Catwoman, then he came to our…to Ivy's house, shot me, attacked her, then Catwoman came back and killed him. Seems pretty straight forward."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Why were you in your suit without your cowl."

Harley sighed. "I thought I would try and bank on his relationship with you. He was holding me over Ivy's head, and I figured…with her temper…we'd both have a better chance of making it through if you were in charge of the negotiation rather than her."

Bruce's brow knit together. "Interesting."

"I wasn't exactly in my right mind either. Obviously it didn't work out. See?" She slapped her leg, hard.

"Don't." Bruce's voice tightened.

Harley retracted her hand and crossed her arms, mirroring Bruce's now steely demeanor. "I'm going to need clothes. I don't want her seeing me like this."

"Why?" He asked.

Harleen felt her eyes begin to well up again. "Because…" her words were trapped in her throat. "Because…I can't, OK? Please." She swallowed. "Just…please."

Bruce obseved the look of utter helplessness on her face. He nodded somberly and exited the room.

/

Harleen was not allowed to turn the wheels of her own chair. That was evidently very important. She had to sit with her hands on her lap and try to keep her upper body as stationary as possible. So, essentially, remain useless. She straightened her tie as the nurse stopped in front of Ivy's door.

"Does she have a designated doctor here?"

The nurse nodded. "I'll see if he's around." She left Harleen in the hallway and returned about 5 minutes later with the doctor in tow. He was in his late 50s or early 60s, graying hair, a bit put-out looking…

Harley greeted him. "I'm Doctor Quinzel. I was Dr. Isley's psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum."

"She's not allowed visitors right now." He told her gruffly.

"This is a hospital, not a prison." Harley reminded him. "I'm a medical professional and I would like to see her, please. This is obviously a significant relapse for her. In order to move forward with our treatment, I need to asses her."

The doctor narrowed his eyes, which Harleen took as a confirmation. She turned back to the nurse. "I need you to open the door and let me observe her briefly, then bring me back out here and I'll figure out a strategy."

The nurse nodded and twisted the handle of the door, pushing it open and Harley's chair through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a slow and short chapter. Selina oriented...the next chapter might be a little long :)


	51. 51

Poison Ivy sat on her cot in the small, poorly wall-papered room. Her ankles were crossed and she was leaning back slightly against her locked elbows, her hands pressing onto the mattress behind her. Her gaze was aimed out the room’s only window. When Harleen entered, Ivy’s eyes flitted from the slit of sunlight to the intruder for a moment, but were quickly returned without a reaction of any sort. Harleen thought Ivy would at least address the chair, but nope…nothing.

“They cut my roses.” The plant queen murmured numbly.

Harleen was happy to hear her voice, although she wished it was more expressive and less depressed. “Which roses?” she asked as the nurse deposited her a safe distance from Ivy’s cot.

Ivy motioned with her head. “The ones outside.”

Harleen looked out the bared window, noticing that the metal was bent. “I’m sorry.” She told her.

“They weren’t healthy anyway.” Ivy sighed, “trimmed too finely and improperly weeded.”

“Like your mother’s roses?”

The redhead nodded. “Mother would have me do the weeding. Mother didn’t like getting her knees dirty…” Her energy was distracted, her gaze never leaving the window and her voice distant.

Harley nodded as well, her head bobbing slowly, observing the other woman. “OK…” she signaled to the nurse. “I’m going to be right back.”

Ivy blinked, but didn’t answer.

“Pamela?” Dr. Quinzel started, craning her neck to try and make eye contact. “Do you trust that I’ll come back?”

Ivy stared out the window.

“Pam?” Harley repeated. “Ivy…can you look at me?”

Slowly, Ivy turned, locking her green eyes on the blue ones in front of her.

“Do you trust that I’ll come back?” Harleen asked again.

Pamela shook her head.

“I need to leave for a moment. I promise I’ll back.” Dr. Quinzel lifted her hands and showed Ivy her palms, wishing that they were closer, but accepting, at this point, that consent was necessary even at arm’s length. “I will be back.”

The nurse turned Dr. Quinzel’s chair around and exited the small room, shutting the door behind them. The doctor was waiting outside, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “So?” He asked.

“She’s been re-traumatized. The restraints, the rose bush, whatever happened with The Joker…it’s secondary victimization.” Harley told him.

“Weren’t you shot by The Joker?” He asked, rather insensitively, Harley thought.

“Yes.” She steeled herself. “But my responsibility is to my client right now.”

The doctor sighed. “She’s been ranting and raving for 12 hours straight. Seems like it’s time to ship her back to Arkham.”

Harleen bristled. “Has she done anything violent?”

“Well she got the rosebush to break through the window.” He crossed his arms. “We had to burn it. She was screaming bloody murder.”

Harley rolled her eyes. “That’s because in her mind, you committed murder, right in front of her. Jesus Christ. Did you do any research into her? Like, any at all?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “I know that she’s Poison Ivy, and that’s all I need to know.”

Harley nodded and with a humorless chuckle said, “that’s what I thought.” She turned back to the nurse. “Take me back in there and leave us alone.”

Ivy was waiting expectantly for Harleen’s return, but shyly dropped her gaze when she entered.

“See?” Dr. Quinzel smiled. “I told you I’d come back.” 

“Mmm.” Ivy acknowledged that, at least.

“Why didn’t you come see me?” The words were out of Harley’s mouth before she could stop them and her face was red and voice loud. She wasn’t supposed to be making this about her, but if she was being honest with herself…she was angry. “You weren’t there when I woke up, Ivy! I needed you. I woke up alone. I was scared and I…” tears bit at the back of Harley’s throat. “I was scared.”

“Bruce was there.” Ivy offered with a shrug.

Sometimes Harley forgot how emotionally stunted this woman was. “I didn’t want Batman there, Pamela. I wanted you.”

Ivy furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“Why?” Harley almost laughed. “Because when you let a person inside of you- literally- you are then entitled to a hospital visit when you lose the use of your legs. That’s just the way that works.”

Ivy swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Dr. Quinzel pushed her chair closer to the bed, a bit disappointed that she wasn’t really given a chance to vent her frustration. She had stopped prematurely due to Ivy’s placid retorts. “Now what happened to you? What happened with The Joker?”

“He broke my jaw.” Ivy’s answer was curt.

Harleen’s tone softened. “I know that, Pam. But a broken jaw doesn’t land you a room down here. What did he do? Did he…hurt you?”

Ivy tucked her knees to her chest and began to rock gently back and forth. “He told me to be a good girl.” She mumbled.

Dr. Quinzel watched, recognizing Ivy’s stress response. “What does that mean to you?”

Pamela was looking past her- through her. “Shh…So eager…” she said in a voice that was barely her own. “Be a good girl for me, Pammy.”

Harley wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. She wasn’t sure if Pamela was dissociating or not, but it made a lot of sense in conjunction with her glassy expression and general unresponsiveness at the house that night when Harley was bleeding on the floor. “Ivy?” She ventured.

“Shh…so eager.” She repeated. “Be a good girl for me, Pammy.”

“Who said that, Pamela? Did Jason Woodrue say that? You were strapped to the table and he said that?”

Ivy stopped suddenly, tears welling up in her eyes, choking her words. “No one came…I was all alone…no one came.”

“In the lab or at the hospital?” Harley asked, trying to keep up. Pam had clearly been ready to vent as well, although Harley would have assumed that their responses would have been opposite.

“6 months…no one came…” Ivy told her, her eyes sparkling.

‘So she means at the hospital…and here she is, re-traumatized…history is repeating itself.’ Harley moved forward awkwardly with her chair until the wheels were flush with the cot. Tentatively, she placed her hand on the other woman’s knee and looked at her straight on. “It’s not like last time.” Harley told her. “I would have been here, Pam. I really would have. I just…I couldn’t.” She patted her wheelchair. “I bet it felt like Jason Woodrue was there, huh? Like he was right there in the house that night.”

Ivy nodded solemnly. “I could smell him.”

Harleen reverently wiped a tear from Ivy’s green face. “Jason Woodrue is dead, Ivy. Batman killed him. And so is The Joker. Catwoman took care of that. The monsters aren’t under your bed, Pamela. They’re in here.” She gently tapped her index finger on the woman’s temple. “You told me we all have a darkness inside of us. Mine has a name, and it’s ‘Harley.’ Yours is Jason Woodrue, but guess what, Pam? Jason Woodrue doesn’t belong to you. He was never yours to keep.”

Ivy’s bottom lip quivered. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Harley ran her thumb over the other woman’s cheekbone.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t break you.”

Harleen sighed. “Not everything is up to you, Ivy. Some things just happen. None of it has sunk in yet for me, so I’ll get back to you when it does…but right now just about the only thing I’m clear on is that you’re the only person I wanted to see when I woke up. And yes, that’s cheesy and oh so human of me…and I’m not sure you’d even want me at this point…I mean, I barely want myself…and I know this is inappropriate, and selfish, and Selina was probably right, I am a villain here, but I’m really not meaning to take advantage…I just…” she collected herself after realizing that she was rambling. “I need someone. I’m angry and I’m afraid and I need someone. I’m sorry for abusing our professional relationship. I’m not a very good psychiatrist, that’s obvious, but you really have made progress, I’ve seen it! And I don’t want you to backslide. I truly believe that the world can be a better place with your influence. So whether or not that includes me…I don’t want you going back to Arkham.”

Ivy had wiped the tears from her eyes and was now just watching the other woman. Harley squirmed under her gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable and wishing very much that she could just get up and walk away.

Slowly, Ivy dropped her knees from her grasp and allowed her feet to return to the floor. She placed them on either side of Harley’s wheelchair and leaned forward, dropping her eyes to the younger woman’s chest. She reached for Harleen’s tie and gently loosened it around her neck. “Totally casual…” she smirked, repeating Harley’s words from long ago.

Harleen’s heart leapt, but faltered slightly when she saw Ivy’s face fall.

“I don’t want to be Ivy without Batgirl.” The plant goddess said, twirling the base of the tie around between her fingers.

Dr. Quinzel stilled the other woman’s hands. “I need you to be Ivy for Batgirl. Now can I kiss you?”

Ivy’s jaw clenched as she shook her head.

“Why not?” Harley asked, trying to sound like she was wondering for clinical purposes.

“I can still smell him.”


	52. 52

Pamela raised herself on the tallest tippy-toes she could manage and swiftly made her way past her parent’s bedroom, careful not to wake them. She stole down the stairs, checking over her shoulder with every step and turned a corner into the living room, finally witnessing the tree in all its glory. The white lights twinkled like snowflakes between the branches that strained under the weight of Mrs. Isley’s ornaments.

Pamela reached her soft hand out and gently stroked the tree’s needles.

“Hello Mr. Tree.” She said, just barely loud enough for the tree to hear her. “I’m sorry someone had to chop you down. You must be very thirsty…” A smile spread over her freckled face, her green eyes dancing with excitement at the idea. “I can get you some water, Mr. Tree. Shh…wait here.”

She turned around and bounded off in the direction of the kitchen, carefully climbing atop the counter to grab a glass from the cupboard. She filled it to the brim and set it down on the counter as she gingerly lowered one foot, then the other onto the ground. She took the glass reverently between her hands and began to walk as slowly as possible back to the tree, trying not to spill a single drop.

“What are you doing?” Her mother’s voice startled her and the jolt of fear resulted in emptying the entirety of the glass’ contents onto her nightgown.

“Pamela, you stupid, stupid girl.” Her mother chided, crossing the room quickly, her robe flowing behind her, and snatching the now empty glass from the little girl’s clutches. “Did you get up on the counter?”

Pamela nodded, her eyes wide with fear, her bottom lip trembling. “Mr. Tree was thirsty.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “A tree is a living thing only in the sense that it requires sunlight and water. It doesn’t have feelings, Pamela, and it certainly wasn’t thirsty. Go upstairs now and change. Put on the blue dress.”

“But mother…” the girl’s protest was quiet. “I can’t breathe in the blue dress.”

Her mother’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm, squeezing tightly. “It’s Christmas, Pamela. We will be taking photographs. Mind your mother or I will be donating all of your gifts to the bum shelter downtown.

Pamela quickly sped up the stairs, followed by a “DON’T RUN IN THE HOUSE!” by her mother. She slowed her pace to a powerwalk and pulled the blue dress that she despised so severely over her head, zipping it at the side even though it restricted her lung capacity.

Pamela had been a good girl this year waiting for this day. She only had one thing on her Christmas list- a pair of glasses. Her mother had refused to buy her some previously, despite a strong recommendation from her doctor. Mother said they were for plain girls, not pretty ones like Pamela. But Pamela had spoken to Santa Claus at the department store and he had told her that if she was a good girl and minded her manners, he would bring her the gift she most desired. And Pamela had been a very, very good girl.

There were 6 gifts in total for her under the tree, and with each one she grew more excited to get to see the world as others did- vivid colors and sharp images. She thought about how brilliant Mr. Tree must look when his edges and needles weren’t blurred.

Two dresses, a new pair of shoes, a necklace, a handkerchief…but no glasses, not yet. There was one more gift, but Pamela eyed it apprehensively. It was much too big to be glasses. Her heart sank as she pulled the box over to her. It was wrapped in shiny red paper and Pamela looked at the tree guiltily as she carefully unwrapped the package and tried not to let the sigh of disappointment escape her lips when she found it contained a doll. She flipped the box over to see its face.

Pamela had a lot of dolls, but all of them were meant to look like her, with red hair and bright green eyes. But Pamela didn’t want to play with herself…she wanted a friend. That’s why this doll made her smile. It had silky hair the color of corn and shiny blue eyes that stared into Pamela’s very soul. Its face was pale and smooth and its cheeks were painted rosy, like she’d just returned from a snowy day outdoors. Her expression was molded into a broad smile which Pamela had never seen before in a doll, their faces were usually so placid. Of course, Pamela wished she could fully appreciate the doll’s delicate features, but being that she hadn’t been gifted any glasses, most of the details were still left up to her imagination.

“Now Pamela, remember, she is made of porcelain, so you must be very careful not to break her.” Her mother reminded her.

Pamela nodded ardently, running a gentle finger along the doll’s fragile cheek. “I will never break her.”

“Hey!” Selina snapped her fingers in front of the other woman’s face. “Earth to Ivy. Hello?”

Ivy blinked, bringing herself back to the hospital room with Selina and the sleeping Harleen. She mumbled an apology.

“Where’d you go?” Selina asked.

“Home.” Ivy told her as the fog cleared from her mind.

“Huh?”

“No, it’s just…umm…” Ivy shook her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. What were we talking about?”

“I heard a bunch of people running in here last night. I was asking you what happened.” Selina asked, both annoyed and concerned.

“Oh…umm…Harley threw her dinner at the nurse.” Ivy told her, watching the blonde as she slept.

Selina looked at her too. “Why?”

Ivy sighed. “The nurse handed the food to me and implied that I should feed her. Harley gave her a rather forceful reminder that she still has full use of her arms.”

“So she’s moved on to anger now.”

Ivy nodded solemnly. “She’s either angry, asleep, or trying to touch me. Although that has been less and less.”

Selina furrowed her brow. “Why does she want to touch you? Give me an answer besides ‘look at me.’”

“Her sexuality and self-worth are tied very closely.” Ivy told her, putting it as simply as possible. “But I think she might hate me a little bit right now.”

Selina leaned back in her chair, avoiding the ray of sunlight as it spilled through the window. “Why?”

Ivy shrugged. “I deserve it. Who else is she going to hate? The Joker? He’s gone. She says she has to move forward otherwise the Harley voice will come back.”

Selina crossed her arms, watching Ivy as she gazed at Harley. “You seem awfully sane for a woman who spent the entirety of last week on a psych hold.”

Ivy brushed a piece of blonde hair off of the girl’s forehead. “I’m taking control of the situation.”

Catwoman narrowed her eyes. “Control is a lot easier to maintain when she’s in a wheelchair, huh?”

“I’m going to formulate some cosmetics tailored to your needs.” Ivy changed the subject. “The commercial brands are toxic and I’m not sure you’re pulling off the vampire look as well as you think you are.”

Selina glanced down at her arms to examine her skin. “I was going more for the Michael Jackson.”

Ivy looked over at the brunette, confused. “I thought Michael Jackson was black.”

Catwoman couldn’t help but laugh, for the first time since that night, she realized. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Ivy leaned back as well, lowering her voice slightly. “Why haven’t I been questioned for murder yet?”

Catwoman smirked. “Because we’re the only ones who know that Joker’s dead. Well, us and Bruce, of course.”

Ivy arched an eyebrow. “How’d you manage that?”

“I put him back where he belongs.” Selina looked pleased with herself. “I barrowed your stash of hydrochloric acid and added it to the tank he pushed me into. It took a little while, but the body disintegrated.”

“And you cleaned the house?” Ivy asked, incredulous.

Selina nodded. “I used the rest of that stuff you gave me for the police station thing. What does that stuff do, anyway?”

“Corrodes and distorts.” Ivy told her. “So what do they think, he just shot her, beat me and left?”

Selina shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“And you were never there?” Ivy was trying to understand Catwoman’s thought process.

“Well of course I was. It was book club night.” Selina smiled. “We were social acquaintances before you went crazy, remember? Your therapist and I were trying to establish healthy, civilian patterns for you when Joker busted in, shot Harley, beat you and poured the entirety of your labs chemical inventory on me.”

“Selina…” Ivy began in a warning tone. “Did you dump all of my chemicals onto the floor of my home?”

Catwoman smiled, her lips pulling back further than made Ivy comfortable. “Maybe…”

“It’s a yes or no question.” Ivy growled.

“Yes, then.” Selina giggled. “Absolutely. I had to, Ivy. You understand.”

Pamela’s hand clamped down on the railing of Harley’s bed. Her breath was rapid as she leaned away from the syringe, straining against the leather straps. The cold smile remained on his lips as he tapped the glass tube with his fingernail.

“Ergot Alkaloids.” He announced like he was beginning a lesson in class. “Compounds produced as a toxic mixture of alkaloids in the sclerotia species of Claviceps…have you ever heard of St. Anthony’s Fire, Pammy?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at her as if she’d raised her hand.

“Ergotoxicosis.” Pamela gritted.

“It’s the second time she’d done this in the last half hour.”

Pamela looked around for the woman’s voice and felt warm hands on her face. She blinked, pulling desperately at the restraints, feeling like she was drowning, stuck under a great boulder.

“Pam?” Another voice called, and Ivy swam for the surface, in search of the sunshine. She closed her eyes and felt her hand on the bed’s railing and the proximity of another person.

“Pam?” Harleen gave her a concerned and questioning look.

Ivy shook her head back and forth violently, but was forced to slow once the migraine set in.

“Should I call a doctor?” Selina asked.

“No.” Harley told her, sleep still thick in her voice. “We don’t want her to escalate. Just let her calm herself down.”

Catwoman cocked her head, watching as Pamela clenched and unclenched her jaw, clearly still in a world all her own. “What is she doing?”

Harleen was watching too. “I don’t think she was ever bi-polar.”

Catwoman snorted. “Why don’t you tell that to her mood swings.”

Dr. Quinzel shook her head. “Her flare-ups only happen when she’s triggered and I have never once observed a manic episode from her. Nope…I’m pretty sure Pamela has PTSD.”


	53. 53

“Were you paying attention when the doctor was talking?”

Ivy sighed, trying her best to remain kind. ‘This is not Selina, this is Harley’, she reminded herself. “Yes, Harleen.”

“OK.” Harley shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “Just checking. You’ve been demonstrating a lack of focus recently is all.”

Pam gritted her teeth, ignoring the dull pain in her jaw that persisted even after having the brace removed. “Harleen…” She said, her tone cloyingly sweet. “Are we underestimating my intelligence?”

“Nope.” Harley shrugged again.

“God, the passive-aggression is palpable.” Ivy groaned.

“I just…I don’t even know if you can lift me.”

“Harleen,” Ivy was clearly getting frustrated. “It has been well documented that I can lift you.”

“Yeah, but I’m way heavier now.” Harley huffed. “Just a big, fat cow.”

Ivy closed her eyes and leaned her head back in the now universal symbol for ‘strangling her would feel good, but I’m going to take a deep breath instead.’ “I know I promised I would try using my feeling words, or whatever…” she stared directly into the light above them, praying for the rapture. “But according to your chart- you know, that pesky official medical chart- you have actually lost 15lbs since arriving here.”

“Sure, all my fucking leg muscle.” The blonde grumbled.

“This conversation is ridiculous. You’re being petulant and horrible. That’s my job.” Ivy leaned over and slid one of her arms behind Harley’s back and the other under her knee. Lifting upwards, she pulled the girl to her chest before depositing her in the wheelchair. “There.” She said, her hands on her hips. “Was that so bad?”

“No.” Harley mumbled. “But I don’t want this.” She forcefully slammed her fist down on the arm rest of her new, state-of-the-art automatic wheelchair. “I want one that I can move by myself.”

“Well you never know, you might want both, Harl.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Pamela!” Harley snapped.

Ivy was too surprised to be angry. “I was…I was just thinking there might be times when you get tired…and you’re going to want a break, eventually.”

“I’m sorry, are you an expert on paralysis? Are you that type of doctor?” Harley’s face was twisted in anger. “Radical idea, but maybe you don’t know everything about everything you fucking psycho.”

“No, she doesn’t like her dresses, Mother.” Pamela whined. “Look, I made this for her!” She held up the doll excitedly so that Mrs. Isley could admire the outfit she’d constructed from leaves and glue.

Her Mother tore the crown of flowers off the doll’s blonde head. “If you’re taking it to school, it will not be dressed like it belongs in a mental institution, or that you do, for that matter.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Dr. Quinzel repeated over and over again until the trigger had been circumvented. “It’s OK.” The anger had left her voice. “You went away there for a second, but you can feel my hands on your wrists and you can hear my voice and now you’re going to look at me.” She waited for Ivy to blink the fog away and make eye contact. “Here, come here.” Harley kissed urgently up the other woman’s arm, clearly feeling guilty. “I’m going to remind you of the trigger we desensitized last week and tell you that you’re beautiful, and out of all the faces in the human race, yours might be my favorite, OK? So even though I’m mad, I’m glad I get to be mad at you. I’m sorry. That word was…I crossed a line.” 

Ivy’s expression was pained. “No, I’m sorry.” She whispered.

Harley sighed, “I know you are.”

/

Harleen rolled along the sidewalk behind the hospital grunting every so often as she pushed the wheels of her chair, propelling herself forward. 

Ivy was kneeling a few feet in front of her on the flowerbed, her fingers softly brushing the petals of the colorful blossoms. They responded to her touch, craning their stems to reach her. She giggled with a sort of child-like amusement as she leaned down to smell them and Harley felt a smile spreading over her lips despite herself. If she could just take a snapshot of this right now, Pamela happy among her flowers…unencumbered, even for a moment…no more memories or disorders or sensory integration issues…just Pamela and her flowers. She could keep some version of this, she knew she could, but it would require jabbing the knife in a little further. Perhaps it was time to stop playing Ivy’s game. Stop being a threat. Perhaps it was time to employ a winning strategy.

Harley pushed herself forward, approaching the edge of the flowerbed. Ivy plucked a red flower from the ground, apologizing profusely to it as she did so, and turned around to slip it into Harley’s hair.

“Can we go in the shade?” Harleen asked, pointing to a tree across the grass.

Ivy pulled herself up and circled to the back of the other woman’s wheelchair. “Why not?”

“No.” Harley raised her arms like a child would ask to be picked up by their mother.

Ivy walked back around to the front a bit apprehensively.

“I don’t want to scuff up the grass.” Harleen explained. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”

Ivy smiled. “I told you fresh air would be beneficial.” Harley wrapped her arms around the redhead’s neck and Ivy lifted her from the chair, carrying her over to the tree’s shade and propping her up against its trunk.

The tone of this conversation would be important, Dr. Quinzel realized. She would need to establish it right off the bat. It couldn’t be accusatory and she would need to be careful of her own tone, since Pamela seemed to be triggered by anything even bordering on shrill recently. If she had to wager a guess, Dr. Quinzel thought it probably had something to do with her mother. She figured that would be a good place to start and she patted the ground, motioning for Ivy to sit next to her. The older woman obliged, pale-skinned for this outing in hopes of not drawing any extra attention. Harley leaned her head against her shoulder and waited for Ivy’s breathing to normalize before asking “why did your mother only grow roses?” in a curious and innocent tone.

Pamela idly wrapped a red lock around her finger. “An idealist is one who, on noticing a rose smells better than cabbage, concludes that it makes a better soup.”

Harley turned her head to stare questioningly up at the plant queen and Ivy couldn’t help but chuckle at her expression. “Mother was an idiot who preferred aesthetics to function.”

“Oh.” Harleen said, flatly. “Who said that?”

“H.L. Mencken.” Ivy informed her.

“Oh.” The blonde repeated, laying her head back down on the other woman’s shoulder. “I don’t know who that is.”

“I thought not.”

Harley rolled her eyes, and was glad Ivy couldn’t see for how dramatic the movement was. ‘If I ever get invited on Jeopardy, I’m getting Ivy to go in my place.’ Her mind began to wander. ‘She smells really good. Why does she always smell so good? Snap out of it, Harleen! Do your job.’ The doctor cleared her throat. “Did you love your mother?”

“You have to learn not to love your mother.” Ivy said as she shifted her weight to run her fingers over the legs that Harley could no longer feel.

“Don’t.” Dr. Quinzel swatted the older woman’s hand away. She felt Ivy’s body language change, tense slightly, and realized if she were going to get anywhere, she’d need to get over some of her own uneasiness. She took the green hand in her own, but even with compromises was unwilling to let her make movements that Harley would never feel.

“My mother made me call her ‘Mrs. Isley’ in public.” Ivy murmured.

‘That’s…strange.’ Harleen had to admit. “What did she look like?”

“Nothing like me.” Pamela quickly assured her. “Except for her hair, I suppose. And her eyes were a similar color. She had freckles too, like me, but she would cover them up in the mornings with powder so she always appeared paler than she was. Like a corpse prepared for an open casket.”

Harleen furrowed her brow. “But you don’t have freckles.” She turned to look at the other woman, just in case they’d sprung up overnight.

“Not anymore.”

There was a sadness to Ivy’s tone that Harley wasn’t expecting just yet. Maybe this would be easier than she’d thought. “How old was she when she died?” she asked.

Ivy thought for a moment. “As old as I am now.”

She didn’t elaborate, so Harley pressed. “How old were you?”

“33.” Ivy was curt.

Harley did the math. “That’s the year of your transformation, right? That must have been hard…going through all of that and then losing your mother.”

Ivy chuckled softly. “I didn’t lose my mother, Daffodil. I chose to end her sorry existence. It was a long time coming, honestly.”

Harleen froze. That definitely wasn’t in her file. Suddenly Harley didn’t feel so safe in the other woman’s arms. “Is that…” she ventured. “Is that what you’ve been seeing? When you go away?”

She felt Ivy shake her head. “I’ve been seeing the reasons why I did it.”

And there it was…Dr. Quinzel saw her path to victory. She grimaced as she slowly slid her back off the trunk, her upper body falling to the ground with a thud. 

“Harleen?” fear was etched into Ivy’s expression as she moved quickly to the girl’s side.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Harley exhibited more discomfort than she was actually in. Ivy only engaged an adversary. She took pity on her now, Harley could see it in her eyes, and though that nearly broke her heart, Harley knew that she could use it to her advantage. “How’d you do it?” She asked. “How’d you kill her?”

“I don’t…it doesn’t matter.” Ivy slid her arm behind her doctor’s back and began to move her upright.

“No.” Harley said firmly. “Leave me here.” Ivy respected her wishes, withdrawing her arm and instead moving her hand to reverently stroke the blonde’s pale cheek. That Harley didn’t mind so much, although there was a bizarre glassiness to Ivy’s expression that made her curious what she was thinking as she gazed at her. “How’d you do it, Pamela?” Harley asked again.

“I liberated her roses from their abuser.” Ivy replied, wistfully.

Ivy needed sweetness and understanding. She needed a support system. She needed unconditional love, even though in this moment, it was hardly ‘love’ Harley was feeling for her. She cupped Ivy’s hand against her face and tried to keep her expression as tranquil as possible. “You killed your mother with the only thing she allowed you two to share?” There was hurt behind Ivy’s green eyes now, Harley could see it. It came suddenly. Another crack in Ivy’s armor. “The only positive memories you shared with her from your childhood…you used them to murder her?” Ivy tried to pull her hand away, but Harley kept it in place, demanding eye contact. “You must have been very angry.”

Ivy swallowed. “I was.”

“What was the last thing she said to you?” Harley asked, as innocently as she could manage.

Pamela shut her eyes tightly, her body rigid. “She…she called me an abomination.”

Dr. Quinzel felt Ivy’s skin begin to grow hot. She would need to move her past anger onto sadness. “No one’s ever loved you…” Harley reminded her, although the tone she chose was sympathetic. Selina wanted a villain? She would be that villain. ‘And now to make her dependent…’ “But I’m here, Pam. Look at me.” Ivy opened her eyes to take-in the broken woman below her. Harley smiled, making sure the expression was bitter sweet. “Your plants love you, and they need you. I need you, Ivy.” Pamela craved control, Harley knew that. So she would grant it to her for the time being. “I need you.” She repeated.

Ivy’s lip quivered as she leaned away from Harley.

‘3…2…and…’ Harleen resisted the urge to smile when Pamela drew her knees to her chest and began to rock. ‘Chink, chink, chink…like cracks in a statue.’ “Isn’t it nice to feel needed?” Harley asked. “Do you like that? Or is it something deeper…” She jabbed the knife in. “Is there another reason you’ve been committed to our therapy for so long?” Harley kept her eyes wide and her voice soft as she watched Ivy pull herself into a tighter ball. “I love you, Pamela. Do you…maybe…love me?” Harley turned herself over on her stomach and dragged her body close enough to touch Ivy. She reverently placed a kiss on the woman’s bare foot and watched the plant queen’s eyes as she unraveled. Poison Ivy beat Harley on any level playing field. But Harley didn’t play on those fields. Kill her with kindness. Ha! It actually worked!

/

Pamela closed her parent’s eyes, finding their glassy quality disturbing. Seeing was for the living. She waved her hand and the rose bush uncoiled itself from their necks and slithered back out the window.

Pamela walked calmly up the stairs, stripping off her hospital-issued clothing as she went. The moon shone through the large windows, casting dancing shadows over her emerald skin. She entered the last room on the second floor. It was smaller than the rest, dustier too. But everything else was exactly how she had left it. Bed made, clothing folded, plants watered. Pamela paid little mind to who had kept her foliage alive. Perhaps just her presence in the room had resurrected them.

Then she saw her doll, propped up on her dresser. Its cheeks still rosy, hair brushed, eyes bright…but she was wearing that dress. The blue dress that matched Pamela’s. She hated that dress. She HATED that dress. Her fists clenched and the anger began to bubble up in her throat. In a fury she crossed the room, grabbing the doll by the ankle and launching it at the opposite wall, shattering it into a million pieces. Pamela released a blood-curdling scream. No words, just sound. All the rage spilling out of her until she was reduced to a heap on the floor. Shaking violently, her skin began to prickle…like blades lurked beneath, prodding and teasing, looking for a way out. And then one did break the surface. Pamela arched off of the floor, biting her lip hard enough that her teeth almost cut through it, trying to muffle another scream. The sharp pain persisted as if she were being stabbed from the inside out. She looked down at her stomach and watched as a leaf ripped through the smooth surface, joining others of its kind until Pamela lay on the floor in a bloody leotard of poison ivy.


	54. 54

"Which brings me the Shelterwood Method…" Pamela, dressed in her typical Paula Irving disguise, flipped to the next slide of her presentation. "The Shelterwood Method is similar to the seed tree method, in theory, but requires that more trees are left standing after harvest time. To understand the need for more advanced growth in a forest, you must refer back to the concept of carbon sequestration that we covered earlier. A healthy forest is a diverse forest. The Shelterwood Method relies on the processes of regeneration. Now once the regeneration is established, it's acceptable to then thin the residual overstory, although keeping them over for the next harvest results in larger trees with deeper roots that further diversify the stand structure." She smoothed out the lines in her skirt as she noticed that most of Wayne Enterprises' board of directors were far more interested in her than they were her presentation. But she pressed on, appreciating that at least Mr. Wayne himself was paying attention. "This policy shift would mean a 15% decrease in production since cultivating a healthier forest is more time consuming than just planting and clearcutting, but adopting those practices will allow your business to expand into markets that simply weren't an option before due to environmental restrictions. There isn't another globally scaled business that has pushed this agenda. Wayne Enterprises has the opportunity to lead by example."

"Does Mr. Wayne get to pose with Poison Ivy for her next PSA?" A man in the back laughed.

Ivy cleared her throat. "I'm sure Dr. Isley would be amiable to the suggestion depending on Mr. Wayne's level of compliance."

This elicited a chuckled from her audience. "Dr. Isley…"

"Her credentials are still valid." Ivy snapped, silencing the crowd immediately. Realizing her mistake, Ivy cleared her throat again and tossed her hair over her shoulder, pushing the pen she was holding behind her ear and biting her lip suggestively. That seemed to calm everyone down. Ivy fought the urge to either roll her eyes or release a virulent allergenic pollen into the room and kill everyone.

"And you would advocate for us?" Bruce asked. "Appeal to the courts in those markets?"

Ivy nodded, grateful to be asked a real question. "I would gladly represent your company if these steps were taken to ensure your small contribution to the health of our environment."

"Very good." Bruce nodded, scribbling something down on the notebook in front of him. "That will be all gentleman, ladies…"

The board rose from their seats and began to mingle, although Ivy very much doubted that they were discussing her presentation. Bruce approached her as she gathered up her notes. "Will Poison Ivy pose with me?" He asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

While Ivy recognized he was Batman, it was still a struggle for her to see Bruce Wayne as anything more than Selina's goody-two-shoes, industrialist playboy, sometimes-boyfriend. "If the image isn't demeaning to her..." She placed her notes inside her briefcase and clasped it shut.

"Thank you for not using your pheromones on these guys." He said, straightening his jacket.

"Doesn't seem like I needed them." Ivy scoffed. "Since when did a skirt suit become so enticing?"

Bruce searched her face and realized that she was making a joke. "Right." He chuckled. "How is she?"

"She's fine." Ivy told him. "She's coming home tomorrow."

"Good." Mr. Wayne nodded. "I attempted to make it abundantly clear that she always had a spot of my team, in some capacity."

"And she appreciates that." Ivy brushed a strand of her fake caramel hair behind her ear. "She doesn't like talking about the future in the way that I'd rather not discuss the past. It's stressful."

"Makes sense." Bruce admitted. "And are you ready to come back?"

Ivy sighed and nodded.

"I promise not to…" he searched for the words she had used. "Ravage you. I was sorry to hear about your misdiagnosis, by the way. 15 years of therapy for the wrong disorder probably wasn't helpful."

"It wasn't." Ivy agreed.

"Well I'd like to put you on retainer…" He took a folded packet from his jacket pocket. "I thought maybe some steady income would help keep you on the straight and narrow. You'd be heading up my environmental legal team. Although I guess I never asked if you were actually any good in a court room."

Ivy wanted to be upset at the assumption that she wasn't perfect at everything, but chose to remember her EMDR therapy instead and squeeze her wrist to remind herself that was a silly thing to get mad about. A petty thing, and Poison Ivy was not petty. "Of course I'm a good lawyer." She smiled. "Name a person who can soapbox better than I can."

/

Harleen sat in her specially designed Wayne Enterprises wheelchair studying the changes that had been made to Ivy's master bedroom. Unfortunately, Harleen's apartment complex wasn't exactly the most wheelchair friendly building in Gotham, and the doctors had told her that she would likely need a full-time caretaker for at least the first 8-10 weeks. She and Ivy didn't even need to discuss it; it was just what was happening. Ivy had installed a bar on Harley's side of the bed that would make it easier for her to move from her chair to the bed. The doors had been taken off the bathroom and the closet so that Harley wouldn't have to deal with opening them from the fixed position in her chair, and also because accidents happen and removing obstacles was an easy way to speed up the journey two and from the restroom. Harley thought the fact that she was asking quite literally one of the sexiest women on the planet to check her catheter and empty her urinary pouch was bad enough, extra accidents would just be too embarrassing.

"You're gonna have to get me a lift for the stairs." Harley said as Ivy finally made it into the bedroom with their bags from the hospital. "The vines are cool and all, but I would like to be able to go up and down on my own accord, and they don't take orders from me."

Ivy nodded. "We can get you a lift. I'll call Batman this afternoon. I'm sure he'll have an opinion on the brand."

"Since when do you care about Batman's opinion?" Harley wheeled herself around to face the other woman.

Pamela sighed. "Although my knowledge is vast, it does not extend to wheelchair ramps."

Harleen gave her a half-hearted smile. "Did you do the showers?"

The redhead nodded, setting down Harley's duffle bag. "I installed a chair and a bar in both of them. Would you like to check?"

"No." The blonde shook her head. "I trust you." She looked past Ivy towards the doorway leading out onto the balcony. "What's that?" She asked, referencing the metal bar apparatus that spanned it.

"Oh." Ivy smiled and walked over to it. "Bruce had it installed. I told him you used to do those silly 100 drills when you woke up in the mornings…"

"Yeah, well, I can't exactly do one squat or pushup now, let alone 100." Harley huffed.

"You're right…but…" Ivy grinned as she pressed a button on the side of the door and the metal bar lowered into her grip. She lifted her feet off of the ground, letting herself hang from it. "You can do pullups." She flexed her back muscles and pulled her chin to the bar to demonstrate, dropping to the ground at the top of the movement. "What do you think?"

Harleen frowned. "I think that was a chin up, not a pullup."

Ivy rolled her eyes and grabbed the bar with one hand this time, easily clearing it with her chin as she pulled herself up with her right hand tucked behind her back. "Better?"

"Show off." Harley grumbled.

"No, look." Ivy dropped down and crossed back over to Harley, standing in front of her wheelchair. She pulled seatbelt looking straps out of the side of the thing and buckled them over Harley's lap. "It might take you a little while to build up the strength, but I know physical exercise relaxes you, and this way…you know…it's all right here, like the balance beam in your apartment."

Harley narrowed her eyes at Ivy as she unbuckled the strap. "Why'd you put it there?"

Ivy smiled sheepishly, looking very much like the Pamela in the picture in her file. "Well you have been known to work out before I wake up, so I thought, if you wanted to exercise immediately after waking, I could get you squared away in your chair and then…"

"Go back to sleep?" Harley couldn't help but laugh.

Ivy was silent for a moment, evidently deliberating what her next move would be. Gingerly, she moved towards Harley, climbing aboard the wheelchair so she sat facing the younger woman. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, brilliant shades of blue and green interlocking in a reverent suspension of reality. Ivy leaned in, resting her forehead against her former psychiatrist's and softly brushing their noses. The position reminded Harleen of that night- the night of Pamela's breakthrough and relapse, and the night of Batgirl's demise. She remembered how good it felt when their positions were reversed, Poison Ivy's lean and powerful body underneath hers, Harley's hands on Ivy's face, when she kissed her back…Harley thought she might cry at the loss of it all. She had shed many a tear since the gun went off, but every day brought up a new memory of an experience she wouldn't be able to have again, not in the same way, at least.

"I'm sorry." Ivy whispered for what felt like the millionth time. "I'm going to kiss you now, OK?"

Harley chuckled at their role reversal. "OK."

The plant queen smiled and brushed her lips against the other woman's, softly, like an angel through the window.

The contact was finished all too quickly for Harleen's taste. "Pamela Lillian Isley, I swear to God, if you tease me right now I am going to flip you out of this chair."

Ivy laughed. "I'm not teasing, silly girl. I'm just trying to be gentle." She captured Harley's pink lips again, harder this time, allowing Harley to fully appreciate the feel of it.

The blonde playfully nipped at her bottom lip. "Gentle? Pfft. Come on, what's the worst that can happen? You paralyze me?"

Ivy planted sloppy kisses in a line down her neck. "That wasn't very nice." She murmured against the soft skin of her clavicle.

"I know." Harleen smirked. "But I'm entitled to a lifetime of jokes about it."

"Fair enough." Pam acquiesced as she began to unbutton the girl's shirt.

Dr. Quinzel felt the other woman's tongue parting her lips. She let it struggle there for a while, loving the frustrated moans her partner was making. Poison Ivy was an excellent kisser. She'd had a lot of practice, after all, but Harley liked the idea of her having to work at it for a bit. Unfortunately- or, fortunately- Ivy found a loophole; she ran her tongue over Harley's bottom lip before taking it into her mouth and sucking on it.

Harleen's hands went to tangle in Ivy's thick red locks, and she braced herself for the action to be denied. Pamela flinched as Harley's hands made contact with her scalp, but she didn't adjust their positions or remove the girl's hands. That non-action proved to be one of the more arousing things Poison Ivy had ever done, and Harley readily parted her lips, wanting to feel as much of the other woman as possible.

Ivy was grinding against her now as she finished with Harley's buttons. Although she couldn't feel the movement on her thighs, it lit a fire in her belly, and Harley felt a faint aching deep within her. The arousal wasn't on the surface like it used to be. Harley had to look for it, feel into it, and the truth was Pamela was making that pretty easy at the moment.

Questioningly, Harley slid her hands from Ivy's hair down her back. Her skin was warm to the touch in the places where it showed beneath her tank top. She grabbed at the bottom of the fabric and began to hike it upwards. Ivy shivered at the sensation of the air hitting her bare skin, but let Harley pull it off over her head.

They were panting with their foreheads pressed against each other once more. Harleen showed the redhead her hands in a well-established symbol. Pamela hesitated for a moment, but then took Harley's hand in hers and placed them on the tight green skin of her stomach.

Harley sighed. "I'm going to miss my abs…" the words came out more seriously than she expected them too.

Ivy smiled and tilted Harleen's chin up so their eyes could meet again. "We don't have to get into the logistics of human anatomy right now…" She moved her own hand up to Harley's stomach, mirroring the movements the girl was making on hers, but was careful to avoid her scar. "But I'm fairly certain that the placement of your injury won't impede the further development of your abdominal muscles."

"God, you're such a nerd." Harley recaptured Ivy's green lips and snaked her hand upwards to her breast. She felt Ivy's heartrate quicken under her touch, but more out of excitement than fear, it seemed. "Can I have you?" Harley murmured against her lips.

Ivy's body tensed and her hand froze where it was massaging up and down the functional portions of Harley's spine. She had clearly been studying the X-Ray, CT Scan, and MRI.

"It won't be like him." Harley assured her, her nimble fingers dancing like raindrops on the woman's chest. "I promise it won't be like him."

Pamela's head came to rest in the crook of Harley's neck. She was breathing heavily, trying to think with a lust-clouded mind.

"Your answer can be no." Harley reminded her, wishing that she could pick her up and carry her to the bed- make her feel secure in her arms.

Ivy took a deep breath and pushed herself out of the chair, stripping her jeans off as Harley watched. Her jeans. The jeans that Harley had wanted to get into when everything was still just a game. Now Harley desperately wanted to get up, to meet her halfway. To stand three inches taller than Ivy and pin her against a wall, feeling her every sensuous curve trapped against her body. Harley wanted to prove her strength to the goddess, move her emerald form on a whim, respond to Ivy's submission…but she couldn't. That would remain a fantasy for the rest of her time on this earth. And Poison Ivy would live long after Harleen was dead. She would know others, others who could offer her more. At Harleen's funeral, Ivy would look the same as she did today- a perfect specimen. Her long legs and generous hips, the voluptuous curves of her ass and breasts, and her beautiful full lips and dangerous green eyes…someone else would look at her the way Harley was seeing her now, and they would take her in a way that Harley never could. The young woman's blue eyes began to fill with angry tears, but she didn't notice. It was Pamela who wiped them away.

"What's wrong?" The redhead asked, kneeling in front of her chair.

Harley had missed so many chances at happiness, and this one had slipped through her fingers before it had even begun, when both she and Pamela were too sick to enjoy it. She only got one chance at this. One chance at being Harleen Quinzel and she had blown it. She had spent 15 years of her life in a gymnasium, giving everything she had to a sport that seldom loved her back. 15 years of blood, sweat and tears and then it spit her out. "Move on, Harleen!" It told her. The next four were spent at medical school, offering her body to anyone in the slightest position of power, trying to prove that she was worth something- ANYTHING. And then she met someone who was as broken as she was, probably even more so…this goddess before her, this wounded seductress who was now kissing away her tears. They had made too many mistakes. Harley had let her guard down and The Joker had escaped, Catwoman had patted herself on the back a moment too early, and Poison Ivy had lost her temper. It was no one's fault. It was everyone's fault. But no matter what or why, Harley was here, sitting in her chair, watching as Pamela tried to make everything better by kissing her in the sensitive places she'd mapped months ago.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" Harley screamed, startling Ivy so severely she almost responded with anger, but instead nervously withdrew her hands and lips from the girl's body. "I grew up a normal kid, my dad was sort of unethical, but who the fuck cares?"

Ivy shook her head carefully. "I don't…I don't care."

The tears were beginning to fall again. "And then I dedicate my childhood and my adolescence to a cause, one specific calling out of mediocrity…and a grown man, the man who coached me since I was 10 years old, tells me that the only way to achieve my goal is to fuck him. I was 15 years old! I was just a kid!"

"Men are pigs." Ivy agreed.

"No, but it's more than that. I have made so many horrible decisions in my life, Pamela. And this is the only life I get, you know? And I was good at something! I could run and jump and dive and flip…that's who I was! And now it's gone, just like that." Harley snapped her fingers to illustrate her point. "For the rest of my life I will never be me. And then I'll be dead and buried and you'll move on and remember me as that poor girl you used to fuck who scooted around in a wheelchair."

Pamela rocked back on her heels and allowed her eyes to scan Harley's body for a moment, from her feet to her bangs, then she sighed and moved forward, softly running her hand down Harley's cheek. "You're still just a kid, Daffodil. Life and death…it's a cycle. I have already seen people come and go, live out their entire existence in the time it took me to choose a new leotard. And you know what? I was just the same as you, back when I was actually me. I had a life that was taken away from me, a career, a future…And goddamn it, Harleen, I am so angry! 64 years now I've lived on this planet, and I have hated at least half of them." She smiled and bushed the bangs out of Harley's face. "The only thing I've hated more than the years is the people. But I don't hate you Harleen Quinzel." She got up and climbed back onto Harley's lap, which made the blonde blush for some reason. "In fact," the redhead continued. "You are the only person that I've ever actually wanted to do this with." She placed a soft kiss on Harley's lips.

"But I want to be with you the way you are with me…" Harleen nuzzled her face into her neck.

"I know…" Ivy traced her fingers over the muscles in Harley's shoulders. "And I bet you would have been really good at it." She laughed that genuine, melodic laugh that Harley had loved so much at the start of things. "But I promise you…" She whispered against the girl's ear, taking her pale hand and placing it against the green skin just above the lip of her satin panties, "that this is enough for me right now."

Harleen smiled sadly and nodded, letting her fingers dip slightly and dance below the fabric's waist band. "Why me?" She asked, not making eye contact. Feeling guilty about the actions she'd taken to get them into this position.

Ivy placed her lips on Harley's nose. "Because you're smart, and kind, and fun," she kissed an inch lower with each compliment. "And ambitious, and dedicated, and very pretty…and you said yourself you're the only one that's ever loved me."

It hurt to hear this beautiful woman say those words. Harley wished she could apologize…but at the same time, she liked the feeling of power it gave her to lock away Ivy's affections. After all, this Ivy was Dr. Quinzel's creation.

"And if you don't fuck me right now then I'm going to fuck you." Ivy finished.

"Real classy, Ivy." Harley giggeld.

The older woman shook her head and placed her hand on her chest. "Pamela." Then she moved it to Harley's. "Harleen."

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	55. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just sort of a fun, random thing. I'm honestly not sure it's how the actual story ends, but it ties everything up pretty nicely, so you can choose to believe this version of events if you want to...or if you need to :)

10 years later…

“Aww geez, Red. I’m cold.” Harley whined as they trudged along the darkening streets of Gotham City.

“Then perhaps you should have brought a jacket.” Ivy suggested, pulling her own trench coat tighter around her shoulders. 

“Red…” Harley giggled. “I was droppin’ a hint.”

Ivy knelt down and smiled at the blade of grass rebelliously shooting up through the pavement. “I know exactly what you were doing, Harley, and I’m denying your request.”

“Humph.” Harley pouted, crossing her arms haughtily. 

“Let this be a lesson on the vitality of forethought.” Ivy stood up and brushed off her knees. “You know, when you said ‘vacation’, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, I know.” Harley’s smile brightened. “But Powergirl said there’s stuff here we just had’ta see!”

“OK…” Ivy glared at a stranger who was looking at them oddly. “Are we just going to continue wandering aimlessly or is there an end goal to this little excursion?”

Harley’s grin grew a few sizes as she fished a piece of paper from her pocket and proudly handed it over to the redhead.

“Dr. Harleen Quinzel.” Ivy read aloud. “512 Greystoke Ave.” She looked at the other girl curiously, Harley’s eerily pale skin reflecting the streetlamp’s glow. “We’re going to meet you?”

“That’s right!” Harley giggled, snatching the paper back. “She’s listed in the phonebook and everythin’!”

“This seems like a terrible idea.” Ivy’s hands were on her hips. “I feel like we’re violating some law of the multiverse.”

“Pfft. No way. It’s all kosher. Powergirl told me so.” Harley gave Ivy’s hand a little squeeze and skipped off down the street, forcing Ivy to have to jog to keep up. “I looked for you too, but all the stuff on Pamela Isley was old, so I got real scared that maybe ya died, but I didn’t see no obituary so I figured you’re probably somewhere doin’ somethin’ sneaky and evil.” She giggled.

“Great.” Ivy sighed, slowing down, not caring that Harley was getting ahead of her. She watched as Harley’s red and black pigtails bounced along, wishing very much that they were on a beach somewhere rather than just another version of Gotham City. Although…

“Hey, Red!” Harley yelled back over her shoulder. “Have’ya noticed how green it is here?”

“Yes!” Ivy replied, finally taking a real look at her surroundings. Although it was mostly still the industrialist pigsty it was in her universe, there were window boxes full of flowers on every second story, and a tree planted on every corner. Ivy was so busy witnessing it all that she didn’t notice Harley had stopped walking, and bumped into her full force. “Ow!” She nudged the other woman. “What the hell, Harl?”

“Red…” Harley breathed, her eyes trained somewhere above them. “I…I think I found’ya.”

Ivy frowned and followed Harley’s line of sight until it reached a huge billboard on a nearby rooftop. It was a blown-up photo of her…of a green-skinned Poison Ivy, pointing at the camera and wearing a sexy Uncle Sam outfit. The caption said “I want you…to stop littering.” Ivy’s jaw dropped. “What the…”

Harley was laughing uncontrollably. “I don’t…” she wheezed. “I don’t see whattha problem is, Red. I always said ya coulda been a model.”

“Harley…” Ivy looked horrified. “What…why…what’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Harley giggled, stealing another look at the billboard. “But my beaver likes it.”

“The one in your backpack, or…?”

Harley shrugged and started down the street again. “Maybe Dr. Quinzel can help us out.”

“With the billboard or the beaver?” Ivy jogged behind her again, exasperated.

“I make the jokes, you figure’em out. We’ve gotta good system here, Red. Stop tryin’a make me pull double duty.”

Ivy groaned and followed Harley to the bus stop where they sat down on the bench.

“Can ya get us a cab? I’m pooped.”

Ivy walked over to the curb and waited. It wouldn’t take long to get a ride, cab drivers always stopped for Ivy. 5 feet 11 inches of human(ish) perfection was tough to pass up, even if they'd just be looking at her in their rearview mirror.

“Uh…hey, Red?” Harley ventured, a bit of fear in her voice. “Don’t come back over here, OK?”

Ivy turned around and narrowed her eyes at the harlequin. “Why?”

“Umm…well…” Harley squirmed, glancing to her right. “You should be focused on getting us a ride is all.”

Ivy had only left her alone for a second, what could she possibly have broken? As Ivy approached, Harley got up and scurried to cover the glowing ad on the wall of the bus stop. The redhead arched her brow and grabbed the other woman’s arm, pulling her away and revealing another billboard-style graphic starring Poison Ivy. The image featured the man she recognized as Bruce Wayne dressed in a tuxedo, dipping an evening-gown-clad Poison Ivy with a rose between her teeth. The caption read “Don’t just be a hero, be HER hero…Remember to recycle.”

“Bruce Wayne?! That industrialist sack of catnip?!” Ivy fumed. “This is…” she trailed off as the display rotated to a picture of Poison Ivy kissing Superman on the cheek as he flew her through the air with the words “You too can save Mother Earth.” “Harley!” Ivy turned to her, the anger in her voice sounding more like panic. “What the hell is going on?! Can you believe this?”

Harley shook her head and braced herself for her friend’s reaction to the third ad, which she knew would be showing up in 3…2…Poison Ivy and Aquaman lounged on a beach in revealing swimwear. Ivy was on her stomach, her feet crossed in the air behind her and her head propped up on her elbow, winking at the camera. Aquaman was depicted rubbing suntan lotion on her lower back and Harley grimaced at the “Mother Earth thanks you for keeping her ports clean” caption. She knew when Ivy had finished reading it because she punched through the display, leaving it splintered and sparking.

“C’mon, Red.” Harley grabbed her friend by the hand and pulled her out of the bus stop. “We can get a cab someplace else.”

They trudged up the long driveway of 512 Greystoke Ave, Ivy still sulking, Harley with a skip in her step.

“Geez, Ives…why ya gotta be such a negative Nellie?”

“Because we are visiting a world in which I am a prostitute and I find that depressing.” Ivy’s hands were shoved deep in her pockets.

“You’re being dramatic.” Harley chided. “You said I could pick the vacation spot this time cuz I was real stressed and your attitude right now ain’t helpin’ my outlook.”

Ivy kissed the other woman on the cheek apologetically. “Aquaman? Really?”

“Pfft.” Harley laughed. “Aquaman’s hot!”

The redhead laughed as she rolled her eyes. “So what’s the plan? You’re just going to knock on the door, freak her out, and then we can go get a hotel?”

“Slowdown there, Girlfriend. First we gotta case the joint.” Harley dove into the bushes at the side of the house and Ivy reluctantly followed. “I wanna see what she’s like first before I talk to er’.” She peered through the window at the empty house.

“I’m sure she’ll be a lot like you, Harl.” Ivy followed suit, looking into the dark living room. “It doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

Right on cue, lights began to bob up the driveway in front of them. The car was large, a van actually, and both Harley and Ivy held their breath as a man got out of the front seat and pulled open the side door. A wheelchair ramp was lowered and a blonde woman propelled herself down it in an aesthetically pleasing chrome chair.

“Thanks, Ricky!” She called in an accent-less voice as she pushed herself up the ramp to the front door.

“You need anything else, Dr. Quinzel?” The man asked.

Harley let out an “eep” that Ivy successfully muffled with her hand.

“No, I should be fine.” The doctor gave him a warm smile and waved goodbye, unlocking the front door and disappearing inside the house.

Harley and Ivy scurried back over to the window and watched as the blonde closed the door behind her and positioned herself in front of the peephole until the man- Ricky- had left. When she was sure the coast was clear, she pulled herself out of the wheelchair and moved it into the closet by the door.

“What the…?” Harley wanted to know. Ivy shrugged, now watching Harley’s counterpart with great interest.

The blonde stripped off her blazer and loosened her tie. She checked her watch once, twice, three times…before leaving the living room for what Harley and Ivy assumed was the kitchen. The two waited in complete silence until the woman came back into view holding a slice of pizza in her hand and plopping down on the couch to watch some TV.

“Well if there was any question as to whether or not that was actually you…” Ivy giggled, attempting to keep her voice at a whisper.

“Yeah, but she ain’t even got one dog. And hey, whatthe heck is she doin’ rollin’ around in a wheelchair if she can walk just fine?” Harley asked.

Ivy started to say she didn’t know, but stopped as another pair of headlights came up the driveway, these belonging to a hunter green sports car. The black-rimmed tires came to a careful stop in front of the closed garage, and Harley and Ivy heard the engine cut out. The camouflaged women squinted at the driver as she popped out of the front seat and locked the car behind her.

The ‘beep, beep’ of the alarm got the attention of the woman inside the house as well. She shut off the TV and nimbly jumped over the couch, crouching on the bottom step of the staircase.

The driver of the sports car was finally close enough for Harley and Ivy to get a good look, although most of her facial features were still difficult to make out in the darkness. Her hair was a caramel color, long, spilling casually over the shoulders of her gray skirt-suit. She wasn’t terribly tall, probably 5’5” or 5’6” without heels on.

“Who’s that?” Ivy asked.

Harley shrugged. “I don’t know…I didn’t really do any research, I jus’ got the address from the phonebook. Looks kinda like Black Canary though, right?”

Ivy squinted. “Well whoever she is, she’s got keys to your house.”

They watched as the woman on the porch fished the keys out of her purse and fitted them to the lock, cursing herself a bit when she found that the action was unnecessary because the door was already open. She entered the foyer and was setting her keys on the table just inside when the blonde pounced from her hiding place on the stairs, using the woman’s back to shut the door as she assaulted her with kisses.

“Well that answers that…” Ivy mumbled, suddenly feeling a strange pang of jealousy. Harley watched, her eyes wide, as Harleen wrapped her legs around the other woman’s waist and giggled gleefully, a sound that Ivy was intimately familiar with. “This is weird. We shouldn’t be watching this.” Ivy tore her eyes away from the scene in front of her to look at Harley who was blushing wildly. “Oh my god, are you getting turned on by watching yourself have sex?” Ivy demanded.

“Well they’re just kissin’ right n…oh.” Harley turned away. “Yeah let’s talk to her and then get a hotel.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Ivy asked.

Harley shook her head vehemently. “Not even’a little. Let’s go.” She grabbed Ivy’s hand and pulled her out of the bushes, quietly circling around to the front porch.

Harleen moaned and arched off the couch, gripping the fabric beneath her like a lifeline. “More…please…god…YES!”

“I take it you missed me?” Pamela was asking when the doorbell rang. She slowed the rhythm of her fingers and looked at her watch. “I thought we had at least another 30 minutes.”

Harleen sat up. “We should have. I’ve been looking for a reason to kill her, though, so this seems as good an excuse as any…” she took Pam’s fingers and guided them past the woman’s red lips. “Keep these warm for me.” She kissed her on the forehead and jumped over the couch, straightening her hair and skirt as she crossed over to the door.

Pamela took her fingers out of her mouth. “Gross.” She snickered, pulling her wig and wig cap off, shaking out the thick red locks that lay hidden beneath.

Harleen sat down in her wheelchair and opened the door. “Can I help you?” She asked the two shadowed forms lurking on her porch.

“Hiya, Girlie!” Harley exclaimed, stepping into the light.

Harleen screamed and slammed the door shut, jumping out of the chair and running to cower in the corner.

Pamela was on her feet. “What’s the matter?”

The blonde just shook her head from side to side, covering her ears with her hands and clamping her eyes shut.

The doorbell rang again and Pamela put her hand in her pocket, drawing out two seeds as she approached the front door. She carefully turned the handle and then forcefully swung it open.

“Uh…that ain’t Black Canary.” Harley said, looking at the pretty redhead silhouetted in the doorway.

Ivy watched from the shadows in a state of disbelief.

“Is there any particular reason you chose to terrify my wife, or…is it that you were mistaken and thought it was Halloween? It’s March, you know.”

“Red! Red!” Harley turned to her Ivy. “Ya hear that? We got married! Ain’t that sweet?”

Pamela stiffened at the familiar nickname. “Who are you?”

“Oh, sorry. So rude.” Harley wiped her palm off on her leg. “Harley Quinn, pleased ta meet’cha.” She stuck her hand out and shook Pamela’s reluctant one. “You’re Poison Ivy. I jus’ figured that out.” She grinned and pulled Ivy into the light. “I got an Ivy too, see? She’s taller than you and she’s got these vine thingies on er’ but otherwise you’re the same. Jus like me an’ her!” She pointed excitedly into the house at the cowering Harleen.

Pamela cocked her head and examined the other Ivy. “Interesting.” She answered simply. “I thought this was more of a Flash thing.” She opened the door wider. “Harleen,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It’s work stuff.”

Harley enthusiastically burst through the doorway, doing a spin inside the living room. “This place is so nice! And it doesn’t smell at all! Kinda smells like my spot when Pam-a-lam comes to visit.”

“She means her house. I bring natural air fresheners when I visit her house.” Ivy clarified, still looking Pamela over apprehensively.

“Ah.” The shorter redhead closed the door behind them. “So I take it this is payback for being a…what did he call me…a ‘grumpy goose’ or a ‘bitch’, depending on who you ask.”

“Who?” Harley asked, her entire face pulled into a question mark.

“Well Supergirl said ‘grumpy goose’, but Supergirl is full of shit and a fucking child. Wonder Woman said he called me a bitch and that I’m much more inclined to believe.” Ivy explained as she walked over to put a comforting hand on Harleen’s shoulder.

“I’m confused.” Harley said helplessly, looking over at her Ivy for assistance. “Who’s he?”

“Are you talking about The Flash?” Ivy asked.

“Yes.” Pamela answered like it was obvious. “I’m assuming he sent you here under the guise of some sort of prank, right?”

“No.” Ivy shook her head. “We don’t know Flash. Harley has a strange relationship with Powergirl that she sometimes exploits. We were sent here under the guise of a vacation.”

“What an idiotic place to vacation to.” Pam helped Harleen to her feet. “Daffodil, it’s fine. Worst case scenario this is an acid trip that we’re sharing.”

“Aww…” Harley clasped her hands in front of her, looking dreamily at she and Ivy’s counterparts. “Red calls me ‘Daffodil’ too.”

“It’s her.” Harleen croaked. “It’s the Harley from my head.”

The room watched as a wide grin spread over Harley’s face. “That is so cool! I uste’ta hear my therapist voice in my head. Twinning!” She cackled.

“OK…well…umm…we should probably go. It was inconsiderate of us to just barge in without reviewing some of the possible landmines to us meeting.” Ivy glared at her Harley.

“But wait, Red!” Harley protested. “We can’t leave yet. We got some questions.”

“Can you make them quick?” Pamela asked. “We’re expecting guests.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Pammy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Pamela snapped.

“OK…” Harley crossed her arms, clearly hurt. “That was rude.”

“First question.” Ivy assumed more of an offensive position after Pamela’s harsh tone. “What the hell is up with those stupid billboards?”

“You saw those?” Pamela grimaced.

“Fuck yeah I saw those! They’re all over the city!”

Harleen finally drew herself up off the ground, but continued to eye Harley suspiciously, noticing that she was as much taller than the pale-skinned woman as the other Ivy was over Pamela. “The PSAs were a stipulation of Ivy’s release from Arkham 10 years ago.”

“Well they’re horrible and demeaning!” Ivy was visibly upset.

“Ha!” Pamela’s laugh was hollow. “You think those ones are demeaning…you don’t know the half of it.” She stormed off down the hallway, leaving Harleen alone with her counterpart and the other Ivy.

“Why isn’t she more freaked out?” Harley asked the blonde.

“Poison Ivy is a member of the Justice League.” Harleen explained. “She’s seen far weirder things than you two.”

“SHE’S WHAT?” Harley and Ivy asked in unison.

It was then that the shorter redhead returned carrying a rolled up poster. “This is one of the designs I rejected.” She unfurled the thing and Ivy’s eyes fell on a picture of Poison Ivy wearing a housewife apron and cleaning litter off of the forest floor with the caption “Happy wife, happy life.”

Ivy’s jaw dropped in horror which seemed to please Pamela. She made sure the two Harleys had a good look at it as well before rolling it back up and setting it forcefully down on the table behind her. “This is officially the worst case scenario.” Ivy murmured numbly.

“Ah quit bein’ so dramatic, Red.” Harley rolled her eyes. “They basically draw me shirtless in about half of my panels these days, an’ look!” She grabbed her breast and then pointed at Harleen’s. “They made me go up about 3 cup sizes. I mean, whatthe heck?! Ya know how hard it is to flip around all graceful-like tryin’a keep my boobs in a corset? Everybody’s hypersexualized, guys. Get over it.”

“No!” Pamela crossed her arms. “I will not get over it and neither should you! What the hell happened to you, by the way? Why do you look like a lab experiment gone awry?”

“For your information…” Harley also crossed her arms. “I got dunked in some acid by Mistah J.”

“Who?” Harleen asked, confused.

“The Joker!” Harley told her. “He ain’t done it to you yet, but he will. Just you wait.”

“The Joker’s dead.” Harleen told her. “Catwoman killed him after he dunked…well, I guess the exact same thing that happened to you.”

“Kitty?” Harley asked, her eyes filling with tears.

This display of emotions clearly disturbed Harleen. “You’re crying over Selina Kyle?”

The Ivies were watching this conversation unfold like a tennis match.

“Of course!” Harley was exasperated. “Kitty and Ivy are my best girlfriends. I doan know what I would do without em’.”

The front door kicked open. “My ears are ringing! It’s bookclub time, my bitches!” The ghost-like Selina Kyle entered the house with a 20-something redhead in tow. “And would you look what the cat dragged in…” she gestured to the girl but stopped short when she saw the odd ensemble in the living room.

“Selina…” Harleen addressed her coolly.

“Newman.” The brunette replied.

“Pam.” The younger redhead smiled.

“Barbara.” Pamela returned the good natured expression.

“Ooh! This is fun.” Harley grinned.

Selina frowned. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Harley!” Her red and black pigtails danced. “This is Ivy. We’re them from anotha universe!”

Selina turned immediately to Pamela. “Ivy, you asshole. Have you been growing catnip again?”

“No…” Pamela sighed. “I’m pretty sure this is actually happening.”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this…” the brunette grumbled, unscrewing the cap on the bottle of whiskey she was carrying, only to have it wrestled away by the young woman behind her.

“You’ve had plenty.” The girl scolded, setting the bottle on the table beside them.

“OK!” Pamela clapped. “We’re all going to sit down and figure this out and then you all can try and catch-up with Selina in terms of intoxication. Now if you don’t mind, I just returned from a weeklong trip and 11-hour flight, so I’m going to change into something that’s not this.” She indicated the tailored gray skirt suit. “Barbara, you’re in charge.”

The younger redhead saluted her and she started up the stairs.

“So…” Harley rapped her knuckles on the table, glancing around at the faces. “Who are you?” She asked Barbara.

“Barbara Gordon.” She reached her hand out to shake Harley’s who returned the gesture with gusto.

“Commissioner Gordon’s daughter?” Ivy asked.

The girl nodded.

“OK…sure…” Harley leaned in conspiratorially. “But, like…who are you?” She winked at least three times.

Harleen sighed and got up from the table. “I think some visual aids might help things along.”

“God knows you have enough of them!” Selina called after her, receiving a middle finger in return. She snorted and turned to Harley. “So what the fuck happened to you?”

“I…I got pushed into a vat of acid by The Joker.” Harley told her, appearing a bit nervous with this Catwoman.

“Yeah?” Selina asked, pouring herself a shot. “So did I. Then I killed him. What did you do about it?”

“She stayed in an abusive relationship with him for 12 years.” Ivy answered for her, pouring a shot of her own although she knew it wouldn’t do much.

“Red! That ain’t nice. I chose you in the end.” Harley huffed.

“No…” Ivy downed her drink. “You chose not him. Big difference.” She corrected.

“Alright, sorry.” Selina chuckled. “I guess that was a loaded question.”

Harleen dropped two thick photo albums onto the kitchen table and Pam came back down the stairs with green skin, dressed in workout pants and a baggy “I survived Arkham Asylum” t-shirt.

“It was a gag-gift from Selina.” She told them before anyone could question the shirt.

“And it looks splendid on you, Pamela.” Selina laughed.

“OK.” Harleen began, sitting in between Harley and Ivy. “So based on your reactions to the whole Justice League thing, I take it your Ivy is still a villain?”

“Well…sorta.” Harley propped her elbow on the table. “We both usta be villains but then I said ‘no way, Mistah J!’ and now I’m fightin’ the good fight. Pam-a-lam does her own thing. She helps me sometimes but she also feeds people to her big ole flytrap and tries to mess with Batsy an’ all that.”

“That sounds complicated.” Barbara offered.

“Pfft. You’re tellin’ me?” Harley suddenly looked a bit weary. “But anyways, we ain’t gonna try ta kill ya if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

Pamela crossed her arms and glanced at Barbara. “I’m just not sure how much we can tell them. It’s possible that a lot more secret identities than just Cat’s cross over to their world.”

“You’re thinking mine?” Barbara asked.

Pam nodded solemnly just as Selina blurted out, “Babs is Batgirl.” Earning her a slap to the back of the head by both Pamela and Barbara nearly simultaneously.

Neither Harley nor Ivy looked all that surprised, though. “We’ve got history.” Ivy explained quickly.

“But Mistah J shot our redheaded Batgirl and she couldn’t walk for a while…so…how come you’re all fine and walkin’ around but Harleen here’s scootin’ around in a wheelchair sometimes?” She turned quickly to Harleen. “Yeah, hey! And how come we saw ya in a wheelchair?”

“Barbara was your first Batgirl?” Harleen asked, an eyebrow raised.

Harley nodded and Harleen flipped past the first few pages of the thinner photo album, tapping on a photo of a blonde Batgirl in a gray and blue uniform with her arms wrapped around an annoyed looking, leotard clad Poison Ivy.

It took Harley far too long to connect the dots. “You mean…wait…you mean…I was Batgirl?! Did’ja hear that, Red?” Harley asked her Ivy. “I was Batgirl! The real life Batgirl!”

“I did hear that.” Ivy acknowledged. “It sounds like there’s a sad end to the story, though.”

“Oh…” Harley looked nervously back at Harleen whose face had, indeed, fallen.

“I was paralyzed from the waist down for 8 years. Joker shot me in the spine the same night he dunked Selina in the acid.” The blonde told her, prompting a semi-awkward silence from the rest of the table guests.

“But…but…” Harley’s eyes filled with tears. “But ya got your legs back, right?”

“Harley, honey…” Ivy reached across the table to squeeze her hand, trying her very best not to make fun of the pale woman. “We’ve seen her walking around all night.”

“Oh, right.” Harley bonked herself on the head. “Stupid. How’d ya get better?”

“Zatanna owed me a favor.” Pamela informed them.

“You’re friends with Zatanna?” Ivy asked, a little appalled.

Pamela regarded her counterpart coolly. “Zatanna is my colleague whom I tolerate for professional purposes.” Catwoman snorted, earning her a glare from the shorter redhead as well.

“I like Zatanna.” Harleen smiled, flipping to a picture of Poison Ivy, Zatanna and Barbara’s Batgirl. “She’s sort of like a classier Selina.”

Harley and Ivy decided they would stay away from that one. Neither of them could figure out what exactly the rub was between Harleen and Selina, but clearly the dynamics were different than in their world.

“So ya passed the cowl down to Barbara?” Harley asked.

Harleen nodded. “I essentially served as Batman’s in-house psychiatrist for a while as he grew his team. You’d be surprised how messed up some of those Batkids were.”

“No.” Ivy laughed. “You have to be a special kind of messed up to wear tights and go hang out with an extraordinarily secretive flying rodent.” She glanced around the table. “No offense.”

“Well anyway…” Harleen continued. “Pam had just joined the Justice League and recommended we take a look at Barbara here to help even out the team again.”

Pamela winked at the girl, causing her to blush the color of her hair.

“But if you can walk,” Ivy began. “Why do you still use the wheelchair?”

“Because she’s lazy.” Selina drawled.

Harleen chose to ignore that comment. “Well I still work at Arkham, so I’m brushing shoulders with criminals every day, but so far none of them have guessed that their crippled psychiatrist is actually Batwoman.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Harley was listening to the story like she was on a rollercoaster, surprised and thrilled with each twist and turn.

Harleen smiled. “Well I’ve only been back for a year, but…yeah.” She flipped to another page to show her in the black and red Batwoman costume, kissing a bodysuit-clad Poison Ivy on the cheek.

Harley studied the picture closely. “So Kitty killed Mistah J and you and your Red shacked up?”

“No.” Selina laughed. “They’d been together a few months before that. Dr. Quinzel here used to be Pam’s psychiatrist at Arkham.”

“Hey! Jus’ like I was Mistah J’s psychiatrist.”

“Oh, good.” Selina took a shot. “So you’re unethical in every universe.” She yelped as Pam’s foot connected with her shin under the table.

“It’s true.” Harleen admitted. “I was Ivy’s psychiatrist, but she was declared legally sane and released from Arkham before our relationship actually started.”

“You hooked up the day she got released.” Catwoman scoffed.

“But then you guys got married? Aww…” Harley grinned, stealing the blonde’s focus away from Selina. “Did Red wear a dress and everythin’?”

“She did.” The exact same expression spread over Harleen’s face as she opened the other book and flipped to the wedding pictures.

“Oh my gosh! You guys look so cute!” Harley hugged her counterpart. “I always wan-ed a fairytale wedding. Lookit! And in the park? It’s perfect. Aw, Red. That’s exactly the kinda spot you’d get married in.”

Ivy stole a glance at the photo of Harleen in her wheelchair and Pamela sweetly kneeling down in front of her in a flower-embroidered dress, then she quickly looked away, choosing an obscure spot on the table to focus on instead.

Harley laughed. “How come Kitty is wearin’a tux?”

“I was Pam’s best man.” Selina chuckled.

“Yes.” Harleen’s tone was clipped. “And as you can see…” she pointed to a picture of she, Pam, Selina and Bruce Wayne at the reception. “Selina was absolutely trashed.”

“It’s called depression, doll.” Catwoman hiccupped. “I’m not handling it well.”

“Clearly.” Harley snorted.

“You know…” Selina poured herself another shot. “I would ask if this is how you treat your patients…but because you haven’t fucked me yet…”

Dr. Quinzel rifled her glass at the woman’s head across the table from her. Selina ducked just in time and Pamela sighed. Clearly, this was common behavior between the two.

“So what about you two?” Barbara asked Harley and Ivy, trying to cut the tension. “Are you an item, or…?”

“We are girlfriends without the jealousy of monogamy.” Harley stated proudly. Ivy continued to stare at the spot on the table.

“So…you’re fuck buddies?” Selina asked, crudely.

“No way! We’re way more than that.” Harley said. “When I fall in love, I fall hard and loyally no matter who you are.”

Pam cocked her head. “I don’t understand. I thought you just said—“

“Ivy is my best friend ever.” The harlequin tried to explain. “She’s my rock.”

This earned her a brief smirk from Ivy.

“So then you’re not romantically involved?” Barbara attempted to clarify.

“No, no. We are.” Harley nodded vigorously. “We live togetha sometimes and we sleep in the same bed and we wrestle and make a lotta innuendo and people saw us kiss a couple’a times, although most’a the good stuff goes on between panels, if ya know what I mean.”

“I can assure you we don’t.” Pamela told her.

“Oh…well…uh…” Harley was starting to look a bit uncomfortable and clearly wanted to be bailed out by Ivy, who eventually obliged her.

“I’m happy as long as she’s happy.” The taller redhead informed the group.

“Well that’s incredibly fucking depressing.” Selina downed her shot.

“Mmm.” Ivy mulled that over as the others sat in silence.

Harley eventually turned her attention back to Harleen. “So ya never loved the Joker at all?”

Dr. Quinzel laughed. “God no. I met Ivy on my first day and the rest was history.”

Harley frowned. “So you’re tellin’ me…that all I had’ta do was talk to Ivy first and this life could’a been mine?”

Harleen shrugged. “Well I’m not all that well versed in the theories of alternate timelines…but from what I’m hearing, that’s what the two of us did differently. I met Ivy, you met The Joker.”

The pale woman bowed her head.

“Let’s go, Harl.” Ivy said softly. “That was a lot to take in for one night.”

Harley’s bottom lip quivered. “Could I…could I have this?” She pointed to the picture of Ivy and Batwoman.

Harleen hesitated for a moment, but after receiving a look from Pam across the table, took it out of its place in the photo album and placed it on the table in front of Harley.

Ivy helped her friend to her feet, taking off the trench coat she was wearing and wrapping it around the smaller woman’s shoulders.

“Look, Harley.” Harleen cleared her throat. “I might have come out of the woods semi-intact, but I was a really shitty person for a very long time. So if you’re matching up our trajectories in your head, you can take some solace in the fact that you seem a lot nicer than I ever was.”

“Here, here.” Catwoman clinked her glass with Barbara’s who snatched both away and set them out of Selina’s reach.

Harley hugged each of them goodbye while Ivy offered a simple wave to Barbara and Selina and understanding nods to Harleen and Pamela.

“I sorta-kinda wish my Kitty looked like you. That way we could talk about Mistah J sometimes.” Harley whispered as she squeezed Selina.

“Well you know where to find me.” Selina offered a rare sweet smile.

“You’re cute.” Harley told Barbara before kissing her on the lips, not as chastely as Barbara would have preferred. “You were always my favorite Batgirl. Besides me, of course.” She giggled once they had broken apart. Barbara was a bit wobbly, so Pam offered a hand to steady her, prompting another giggle from Harley. “Are you friends with Wonder Woman?” She asked, her eyes wide with excitement at the idea.

Pamela nodded. “I occasionally enjoy her company. She’s a very serious woman.”

Harley smiled. “I bet.” She moved onto Harleen, who she cocked her head at. “Did’ja not like hearin’ me in your head?”

“It wasn’t really you.” The blonde told her. “It was mental illness and it was…distracting.”

Harley nodded in understanding. “Red says I’m her favorite distraction.”

“Well then I’m glad you have her.” Harleen patted her shoulder, as it suddenly sunk in how odd it was to be talking to another version of herself.

“Me too.” Harley grinned, grabbing Ivy’s hand and heading back into the chilly night.

“Hey, Red?” She asked as the light from the house disappeared behind them, their walk a lot more pleasant now that she had a jacket.

“Yes, Harl?”

“I really do love ya, you know.”

Ivy sighed. “I know you do, Harley. I know you do.”


	56. A Pretty Decent Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been just so blown away by the love for this story lately that I decided I'd give you guys some "bonus footage". This is a DC story, after all, so of course I had to put together an Extended Edition ;) I'll be posting a couple of oneshots for this story that were- at one point- ideas for chapters that I ended up cutting out because I wanted to end it a specific way. So, thanks for the support! These will be fairly fluffy (I needed a quick break from Sirens Arena). I hope you enjoy :)

“So,” Pamela grunted as she lifted Harleen off of the bed. “I think we should get married.”

“Umm…what?” The blonde quirked an eyebrow in surprise as Pam helped her settle into her chair.

“I think we should get married.” The redhead repeated quickly over her shoulder on the way to the closet. “You haven’t worn the navy blouse this week, would you like that one? Maybe with the black slacks?”

“No.” Harley replied distractedly, still trying to fully comprehend what she’d just been asked.

Pamela’s head popped back into view, her expression frustrated. “Well why not?!”

“Because it’s boxy and unflattering!” Harleen’s intensity rose with the other woman’s. “I would rather wear the pinstripes!”

“Oh…” Pamela’s cheek’s reddened as much as they could given her green complexion. “So you will marry me.” She smiled and returned to her wardrobe selection. “It makes a lot of sense, financially speaking. We could file jointly since you insist on my paying taxes, and qualify for the credits that wouldn’t apply to either of us otherwise. Not to mention lower rates on car and health insurance, the importance of which cannot be understated given your present medical condition.”

Dr. Quinzel opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out, so she clamped it shut confusedly and wheeled herself across the hardwood floor to the carpeted walk-in closet.

Pam was holding a white dress up to her body. “What do you think?” She asked when Harleen stopped in the doorway.

“No.” The blonde told her, her mouth drawn into a firm line.

Pam sighed. “I wasn’t all that sold on it either, but I thought maybe with my pea coat, the mustard one?”

“No, Pam. No to your marriage proposal or whatever that was.” Harleen clarified, her tone a mix of bewilderment and annoyance.

“What?” Now the redhead’s discomposure was warranted. She dropped the dress to her side. “W-why not?”

“Because that was the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard!” The blonde threw her arms up. “Marriage should be proposed, not suggested.”

“Well what does it matter?” Ivy huffed. “It’s the same question.”

“Your question didn’t even have a question mark!” Harleen reminded her. “When I was a little girl I didn’t go to bed dreaming of the day someone would lift me out of my wheelchair and casually suggest that we get hitched for the financial benefit.”

“So what are you saying?” Pamela hung the dress unceremoniously back on its hook. “It’s legal now, I don’t understand your hesitation.”

“I’m saying I’d like a little romance, Pam.” The blonde explained.

The other woman was silently thumbing through the rack of clothing. “Fine.” She mumbled. “Here.” She pulled the three-pieced pinstriped pantsuit down off its hanger.

“I don’t want the jacket, just the vest.” Harley waited expectantly as Pam discarded the jacket and knelt in front of her chair. She looped her thumb under the hem of Harley’s nightshirt and pulled it off over the girl’s head, tossing it into the hamper that sat in the corner. “You should have been a basketball player.” Harley chuckled.

Pam smirked and helped the blonde to remove her sports bra as well, replacing it with one appropriate for her outfit. She handed Harleen the sapphire blue short-sleeved button down and lifted her up slightly to pull her sweatpants off as Harleen closed her shirt one button at a time. Pam then began the arduous process of sliding the girl’s fitted slacks up over her thighs at the awkward angle that the wheelchair forced. “Shoulders.” She commanded. Harleen complied by grabbing the woman’s shoulders and pulling herself up just enough for Pam to slip the pants onto her hips. The redhead turned to the accessory shelf as Dr. Quinzel tucked her shirt in and finished fastening her pants.

Pam lifted Harleen’s black necktie and Michael Kors work pumps from their orderly positions, but the blonde stopped her as she turned around. “I want the flats.” She told her.

“Daffodil…” Pam started softly, “There is quite literally only one pro to your condition, and it is the ability to wear shoes solely for the purpose of aesthetics and not function.” She placed her hand over her chest in mock integrity. “I cannot- as a woman of legally sound mind and body- allow you not to take advantage of this one singular gift.” Harleen rolled her eyes in response. “And besides,” Pam continued, “We can’t have you wheeling around looking like some sort of…lesbian, can we? What sort of message does a flat shoe send?”

Dr. Quinzel burst out laughing. “No…” she said as she regained control of herself. “No we wouldn’t want that.”

Pam winked and pushed the straps of her nightdress off of her shoulders, allowing the garment to fall to the ground, leaving the redhead completely naked in the warm morning light.

Harleen blushed and swallowed hard- her typical response to Pamela’s nudity. One year and ten months and she was still unable to shake the butterflies that took flight in her stomach seemingly according to Pamela’s whim. Pheromones or no, she was still Poison Ivy, after all. “Do you want to, umm…” Harleen cleared her throat. “Bring that over here for a second?”

The redheaded feigned a disappointed pout. “I’m sorry, Dr. Quinzel, but that sounds awfully romantic. Something I’m not, evidently.” The pout she received in return was genuine in every respect. “White dress…” Pam sighed, acting like she was deeply inconvenienced. “You know what that means…” She began to slowly reach for her unmentionables.

“Don’t…don’t you do it, Pam.” Harleen said in a warning tone. “Don’t you pick up that thong.”

The redhead grabbed that exact garment and bit her lip as she stepped into them, inching them up her thighs at a cruelly glacial pace. “You know; I should really choose a pair of shoes before I go any further.” She tapped her index finger on her plump red lips thoughtfully, turning to the shoe rack and jutting her hip out.

“Pamela…” Harleen breathed. “Please don’t put your shoes on before your bra. I’m serious right now, don’t—“

“Ah, here we go.” The redhead smiled and leaned down further than was necessary to grab the towering 6in black stilettos. She strapped them to her feet and shimmied a bit as she righted herself. “Oh, Harleen…” she acted shocked. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

The blonde was giving her a death glare, but she broke when Pam pushed a stray tendril of red hair out of her eye. “Come on…just really quick…” Harleen whined.

“I’m sorry, Harleen.” Pam shrugged and clasped her bra behind her back. “I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“So we’re vindictive this morning, are we?” Harleen scowled as she looped her tie around itself, pulling the thick end through the knot and tightening it close to her throat. Too close, actually. She was looking down at the thing, trying to stop it from cutting off her air supply, when she heard Pam kneel down in front of her.

“Here…” She said in her rich, melodic voice. “Let me help.”

“No I…” Harleen looked up and found that Pamela was on one knee, her mustard pea coat draped over her shoulders, her hand reaching for something in her pocket.

Harleen’s breath hitched. “You were…you were going to be romantic the whole time, weren’t you?”

Pamela smiled and produced a small black box, opening it silently to reveal a silver, sapphire encrusted ring.

“Is that a…”

“Rose.” Pam smiled, referring to the white gold that held the main diamond in place. “We’re working on desensitizing my triggers, so I thought it might be time for me to start associating the rose with something else. Something like…you.”

Harleen was grinning so broadly she felt as if her cheeks might tear. “Why didn’t you start with this?” She demanded, unable to shake the tearful excitement from her voice.

“I…” a flash of rare insecurity crept back into Pam’s features, “I would want to know the raw data upfront. I thought…” she glanced down at the ring, “I thought if you understood the benefits, you’d be more inclined to say yes.”

Harleen wiped a tear from her eye, still grinning like an idiot. “Honestly, Pam, only you would propose in lingerie and heels.”

“I’m a very beautiful w—“

“Woman.” The blonde finished with a chuckle. “I know you are.”

“And I’m wearing a jacket, too.” Pam smiled as Harleen leaned forward and kissed her, but she made sure it remained chaste in nature so they wouldn’t get carried away just yet. “I’m a very intelligent woman.” The redhead began, keeping Harleen at arm’s length. “I am articulate and well-read, objectively beautiful and successful with most everything I attempt. But I am…” she cleared her throat. “I am broken.” She clutched the box in her hands a bit tighter. “I know you’re unhappy…” Her tone was slightly defeated. “And I know I’m partly responsible.”

Harley began to protest, but Pam shook her head, and she fell silent once more. “You don’t make me want to be a better person.” The former villainess attempted to swallow back the lump in her throat. “You’re the only reason I want to be a person at all.” She took the ring out of the box and held it out in her hand. “You are so different from me, and sometimes it can be…infuriating.” Harleen laughed at that, and Pam smiled in return. “But even though we have different strengths, it’s our weaknesses that bind us. Our pain that brings us closer together. I think we make each other better, Daffodil. And I don’t ever want to give that up. So…” she took a deep breath. “Harleen Frances Quinzel…will you marry me?”

Harleen clamped her hands over her eyes, suddenly not wanting Pamela to see her cry. She was still able to nod her head vigorously, though. “Mhm. Yes. I will.”

“Harl…” Pam chuckled, reaching up to take her right hand. She pried it away from her face and Harleen peered out at her with one glassy blue eye. Pam kissed her hand before sliding the ring onto her 4th digit.

“OK,” Harley sniffed, roughly wiping the tears from her eyes and holding her arms out to the woman in front of her. “I get to touch now.”


	57. I Promise

Pamela stood in front of the mirror, her heart beating faster than she’d like to admit. She smoothed down her dress again and again, running her hands down the seam on the side. The embroidered flower pattern scratched against her palm, and she was finding the repetitive motion soothing.

It would be a small ceremony, only acquaintances that knew her as both Pamela and Paula, so she’d left her skin its natural shade of green. But now…looking at the complete image, she wasn’t so sure. She looked fantastic- of course- she’d always look fantastic, but she wasn’t so sure Poison Ivy belonged in a wedding dress.

Pamela twisted her engagement ring on her finger. It matched Harleen’s in terms of styling, but was encrusted with emeralds rather than sapphires. Wearing blue on her finger just felt wrong, like she was abandoning too much of herself. She took a deep breath, bit her lip, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her skin had paled. She was suddenly just a pretty redhead on her wedding day. Pamela could only behold the image for a few moments before her resolve slipped and the green seeped back up through the smooth pale expanse.

She drummed her fingers on her hip for a few beats before trying again, watching the transition from Ivy to Pamela this time. But she allowed it to go too far- turning her face white like snow rather than the usual tan complexion she chose- and for a moment, it was her mother looking back at her from the mirror. Naturally, she panicked, but didn’t take her eyes off the reflection…and as she watched, she could see her chest rising and falling in the mirror, the look of fear in her eyes…and although it wasn’t actually her mother, it was the first time she’d seen that sort of emotion on the face that they nearly shared.

“An abomination…” Pamela whispered. “But don’t I look lovely, Mother?” She swayed slightly in the dress, watching the sunlight illuminate the ivory embroidering. “Surely I’m not a monster today…” The reflection didn’t respond. “I’m getting married, Mother.” She giggled. “And to a doctor, no less. And look!” she proudly held the ring up for her reflection to examine. “I’ve never forgotten the roses. I grow them in my garden too and I always have the weeding done before supper.” she dropped her hand and said more quietly, “She could provide for me if I wanted...she’s ambitious and intelligent and…and I didn’t mean to break her.” She looked down at her feet. “I’ve been working to put her back together, just like that plate, remember?” Pamela looked back at the mirror, and although she could feel the excitement in her expression at the memory, she could have sworn her reflection was disappointed. “You said that plate I dropped at father’s party was ruined forever, but I put it back together. I searched under the table and the radio and I found all the pieces, every last splinter, and I put it back together just like new!” She grinned. “I haven’t found all of Harleen’s pieces yet, but I will.” Pamela assured her pale reflection. “I am…umm…I’m happy, Mother.” She smiled sheepishly. “And I know once I find her pieces, she will be too. I’m…” Pamela cleared her throat. “I’m a very important woman. Does that…are you…would you be proud; do you think? Would you…” she dropped her gaze. “Would you visit me? Harleen and I?” The room was silent aside from the occasional chirping of a bird out the window or the sound of a car’s engine as it sped by. Her eyes slowly inched upwards, scanning her body from the hem of her dress to the plunging neckline. But when her gaze reached her skin, she found that it was green once more, the same color as the emeralds on her ring. “No.” She gritted, the anger of her expression in sharp contrast with the delicate flowers laced through her hair. “No she wouldn’t.” Pam looked down at her ring again. “And the rose isn’t hers anymore, anyway…”

“Hey,” Selina’s voice came from the doorway after a quick knock. “What are you doing?”

Ivy whipped around and tried not to look too startled. “Oh, I was…disappointing myself, I suppose.”

Selina narrowed her eyes and leaned against the doorway, looking altogether human thanks to the makeup Ivy had created to cover the aftermath of her acid bath.

“This mirror makes me look fat.” Pam continued with her excuses.

Selina suddenly stood bolt upright, a look of overplayed concern on her face. “Pamela…you don’t think…are you pregnant? I told that little heathen to use protection!”

Ivy rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. “Remind me why I invited you?”

Selina chuckled. “I’m your best wo-man. And anyway, I came to tell you that child you’re fucking, which you’re also marrying, I guess? She’s freaking out about something, so you’re gonna have to go lock that shit down.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Kitty…” Ivy began to slowly sashay towards her. “I’d say you were jealous.”

“Ooh, yum! I love the taste of puke in my mouth. Thanks for that.” Selina leaned back against the doorway.

Ivy dropped the act. “I swear I’m driving you to rehab as soon as we’re done here.”

“Yeesh, Ives.” Catwoman crossed her arms. “A little harsh, don’t you think?”

“You just referred to the woman I’m marrying in an hour as ‘that child’ I’m ‘fucking’. So no, I thought my response was appropriate. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Pamela walked past the brunette out the door, “I’m going to ‘lock that shit down’, as you so eloquently put it.” She stopped for a moment and turned around to face Selina once more. “But I’m serious when I say I’m worried about you. Perhaps we really should get you some help.”

“Do you recommend I marry my psychiatrist?” Selina responded, her tone biting but her eyes displaying the hurt that lay just below the surface. “That seems to have worked wonders for you.”

Pam sighed. “In any case, thank you for being here today. I know you and Harleen don’t exactly get along.”

“You and I don’t exactly get along.” Catwoman pointed out.

“You wore a tuxedo to my wedding, Cat.” Ivy smiled. “Sure we get along.”

/

Harleen was sitting in her chair facing a blank wall when Pamela and Selina walked in. “I’m not ready yet.” She murmured without turning around.

“I can see that.” The redhead acknowledged, looking at the white dress still on its hanger.

“I’m not supposed to see you in your dress yet, Pam.” Harleen complained. “It’s bad luck.”

“What a ridiculous superstition.” Ivy crossed the room and turned the woman’s chair, revealing red-rimmed eyes and smeared makeup.

“Oh, great!” The blonde shot at Selina, who was casually sitting on the couch in the corner. “Remind me that I’m marrying a supermodel, that’s a huge boost for my self-esteem. Doesn’t make me feel inadequate at all.” The brunette shrugged in response.

Ivy was already dabbing at Harley’s eyes with a tissue. “I’m a botanist, Daffodil.” She reminded her, although it seemed to be motivated by a genuine need to correct the inaccuracy rather than solely for Harleen’s benefit.

“It’s just…” The blonde sniffed, pulling away from Pamela’s touch. “You’re Poison Ivy. You’re on billboards, and you…you look like that, and you’re a metahuman for Christ’s sake! And I’m nothing. Not anymore. I’m just some girl in a wheelchair.”

“Honey…” Selina began from her place on the couch, “People hate Poison Ivy.” The redhead shot her a look and Selina rolled her eyes in return. “The only reason people are being forced to like her now is you, Doogie.”

“It’s embarrassing.” Harley cried. “I wanted to walk down the aisle, not roll, and what’s the point of wearing a dress if I’m going to be sitting down the whole time? I’d like to only get married once, and here we are and I’m not even me! And we’re going to look back at the pictures and all I’ll be able to see is this fucking chair.”

“Well what about me?” Pamela’s eyes were suddenly wide with concern. “Won’t you see me?” Harleen didn’t respond, just wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re marrying me, not your chair, after all. I’ll see you…” Pam brushed the hair out of Harley’s eyes. “Do you love me, Harleen?”

“Mhm.” The blonde nodded earnestly. 

“Then do what you promised you’d do…” Pam placed her right hand next to Harley’s and gently tapped her ring against the other woman’s. “…and marry me, please.”

“I’m scared, Red.” Harley’s lip quivered.

Pam leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harley’s forehead. “I know you are.”

Selina took her silent cue and stood up from the couch, crossing the room and taking Harleen’s dress off the hook.

“Please don’t leave me.” Pamela murmured against the blonde’s forehead.

Harleen separated and looked up at Ivy, brushing their noses against each other as she did. Her blue eyes sparkled- wide and glassy. “I would never leave you, Pam. I promise.”

“Welp, looks like this whole soiree is just an expensive formality then.” Selina dropped the dress on Harleen’s lap and Pam had to sit back to allow the fabric room. “Chop, chop. We’re on a timeline, ladies.”


	58. Smooth

“You can dance, if you want to.” Harley murmured as she and Pamela sat at their table, watching their friends- or ‘amicable acquaintances’- make fools of themselves.

Bruce suggested, as a show of good faith for Pamela’s new membership in The Justice League, she invite them all to the wedding. Pamela and Harleen assumed that few- if any- would come, being that Pamela wasn’t exactly friendly, she had been a notorious villain up until two years ago, and they were all busy “people”. They’d obviously misjudged just how desperate these heroes were for a night out because most of them had actually come.

“Harl,” Pamela chuckled, “do I seem like a person who likes to dance? Enough that they would leave their bride sitting here alone on their wedding night?”

“No. No you don’t.” Harleen smiled and bumped the redhead with her shoulder. “Did you ever think you’d have a ‘bride’?”

Pam considered that for a moment, knitting her brow and pursing her lips. “No. I can’t say that I did.”

“Why not?” Harleen interlaced their fingers, smiling at the matching gold bands.

The redhead sighed. “Because I didn’t understand myself before, and neither did the world around me, and afterwards…I didn’t want to. The human race wasn’t worth my time- still isn’t, really- let alone one singular person.”

“Mmm.” Harleen nodded, taking in the answer for all its complexities. “See, I just thought I was straight.” She laughed at the glare Pam shot her. “Maybe I still am. Maybe I’m just in it for the plants and the perks.”

“Oh? And what might those be?” Pam asked, leaning back to regard Harleen skeptically.

“How about seeing Batman volunteer to be Catwoman’s designated driver? Or Wonder Woman trying to figure out what the hell she’s doing here? Or finding out that Flash is a hot blonde. I totally wouldn’t have known that if I hadn’t married you.” Harleen grinned, the sparkling lights above them reflecting in her blue eyes.

“Congratulations.” The redhead mumbled as she turned her attention back to her colleagues.

“And how could I forget the best perk of all?” Harleen grabbed Ivy by the cheeks and pulled her in for an overzealous kiss. “I get to do that and not die! Well, that and a lot more.” She winked.

“Honestly, Harleen,” Pamela chuckled as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Your tongue to lips ratio is just…it’s a lot.”

“Well sooooorrrryyyyy,” The blonde lulled her entire head rather than just roll her eyes. “Not all of us have had thirty something years of practice.”

“Perhaps in thirty years I’ll have whipped you into shape.” Ivy smiled, her eyes illuminated with a different sort of emotion than her usual fury.

Harleen dropped her gaze and lowered her voice, the wind having been taken out of her sails. “I don’t think you’ll want to kiss me in thirty years, Pam. I’ll be about 60 years old.”

“And I’ll be nearing 100.” Ivy smiled again, leaning forward to gently brush her lips against the other woman’s. “Age is but a number, Daffodil. Aren’t I living proof of that?”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem.” Harleen’s expression was pained once more. “You’re—“

“Excuse me, ladies.” Flash interrupted.

“There’s another cake under the table.” Harleen told him distractedly, wanting to get back to she and Pamela’s conversation. “Pam alerted me to your unique caloric requirements.”

“No,” he laughed. “Thank you, but I was coming to ask for a dance.”

“I’m not sure how effectively Harleen’s wheels will—“

The blonde woman smiled and placed her hand on Ivy’s knee to interrupt her. “I think he meant with you, Babe.”

Pam looked up at him confusedly at first, but her expression quickly changed to guarded and skeptical. “Why…?”

“Is she always paranoid?” Flash asked the bride in the wheelchair.

“Go, Pam.” Harleen patted her knee. “Live a little so I can live vicariously through you.”

“I’m really not a fan of the guilt card.” Ivy grumbled as she allowed Flash to help her up from her chair.

“Love you too, Red.” The blonde winked and blew a kiss as Pamela was led onto the dance floor. The song was relatively slow and to Harleen’s surprise, Pamela allowed herself to fall back into the following position. Harleen smiled and sighed with a cadence somewhere between wistful and contented.

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on you.” Selina Kyle slurred as she flopped heavily into the seat Ivy had just vacated.

“How shit faced are you?” Harleen asked without turning to her. “Scale from…I don’t know, Pam to Karen on Will & Grace.”

“I’m- hic- bridesmaid at a wedding drunk. Completely- hic- appropriate for the setting.” The brunette assured her.

Harleen eyed her sideways. “How much of this are you going to remember tomorrow?”

“Mmm…” Selina was evidently thinking. “I’ll remember you rolling down the aisle because you pushed yourself even though Bruce could have done that for you…and I think I’ll remember Pammy’s face when she put the ring on your finger because that was when it became pretty fucking clear that Poison Ivy had been body-snatched.” Selina laughed at her own joke. “Seriously, you really fucked with that woman’s head.”

“Yeah,” Harleen admitted, her voice quiet, “Yeah I did.”

“I just can’t believe- hic- you married Poison Ivy.” The brunette shook her head. “Do you have a death wish? What happens if she gets mad? You can’t exactly defend yourself, you can’t even walk! I mean- hic- I’m glad you’re confident in your therapeutic skills, but what if she snaps like she used to?

“You’re drunk.” Harleen grumbled.

“And you just married a known psychopath.” Catwoman laughed. “What? Was Joker taken or something? Had to find the next best thing for your little psych experiment?”

Harleen’s eyes were brimming with tears. She pushed past Catwoman in her chair, rolling herself away as quickly as possible.

“Where are you going?” Selina called after her.

“To get another piece of cake!”

/

Ivy held onto Barry’s shoulder as they swayed with the music. “I’m surprised so many of you came.” She admitted.

Flash leisurely spun her and then pulled her back close to his body. “I like to think we take care of our own. Believe it or not, you’re pretty important to the team.”

“And why’s that?” She kept her feet in time with his.

“It’s not every day a villain switches sides.” Barry acknowledged. “The least we can do is support her healthier life choices.” He smiled and twirled her again.

“You know; I find that a bit demeaning.” Pam’s hips were tighter now, her movements less fluid.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He assured her. “I’m just saying Harleen’s a real catch.”

Ivy relaxed and the song ended. She nodded politely at him and went to turn away, but he held her by the shoulders and said, “I’m really glad you two worked out. Seriously.”

“Noted.” Ivy narrowed her eyes at him once more. “Tell your reporter I said hello.” He dropped his arms and she was able to exit the dancefloor in the direction of her table, but upon her return, she found Catwoman sitting there, her feet up, but Harley gone.

“Where is—“

“Stress eating.” Selina informed her before she even had time to finish her inquiry.

Ivy scanned the cake table, but could only find Barbara Gordon. 15 now, brand new to the bat-family, and starring dreamily at the 23-year-old unmasked Robin that sat a few tables over from where she stood absently stabbing at the piece of cake she had yet to actually put on a plate.

“Barbara.” Ivy tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped nearly out of her skin.

“Oh! Uh, hey, Ivy, what’s umm…” She tried to play down the blush in her cheeks. “What’s up? Beautiful ceremony, by the way.”

Wordlessly, Ivy took the knife from Barbara and moved the slice of cake from the communal serving dish to her plate, then took the fork from her hand and stabbed through the soft layers so it stood upright in the frosting. “Here.” Ivy handed it to her. “That was unsanitary.”

“Sorry…” Barbara looked down at her feet.

“You need to wait a few years, Darling.” Ivy implored. She knew Barbara understood what she was referring to when she blushed an even brighter shade of red. “Eight years makes a big difference right now.”

Barbara scoffed. “You’re not seriously lecturing me about age differences, are you? Harl’s closer to my age than yours.”

“Now don’t you be cross with me, young lady.” Pam put her hands on her hips. “Robin’s a nice man as far as men go, but he is still a man, and you’re just a girl. There’s a reason we don’t call you ‘Batwoman’. Now take your cake and go babysit Selina for me. She’s in need of supervision.”

Barbara grumbled something sounding suspiciously close to “you’re not my mom” as she sulked away.

“You’re damn right I’m not!” Ivy called after her. After sighing and fretting Barbara’s future life choices for a moment, she began her search for Harleen, which was fairly easy following her tire tracks. The blonde was laying in the grass by her chair near the pond.

Ivy jogged as quickly as she could in her shoes over to Harleen. “Are you OK? She panted.

“Do I look OK?” Harleen snapped.

“How did you get out of your chair?” Pamela asked as she sat down beside her.

“I flopped.”

“Ah…” Pamela nodded her head slowly, watching Harley as she stared up at the sky above her. Pam laid down as well, understanding that her dress would likely be ruined, but willing to make the sacrifice. Instead of watching the sky, though, she watched Harley. “You look like an angel.” She attempted to soften the woman’s sudden mood. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No. Someone once told me I resembled a Labrador Retriever, though.” Harleen didn’t shift her gaze from the stars.

Pamela smiled and moved her eyes upwards as well. “I stand by that assessment.” A few moments of silence passed and Pam eventually- tentatively- grasped Harley’s hand in her own, but the blonde pulled away almost immediately. “What’s the matter?” Ivy wanted to know.

“Are you OK?” Harleen asked, answering her question with a question and finally lulling her head to stare intently at the other woman. “You’re a much different person then when I met you and I…I don’t know…You can tell me if you’re not OK, you know. I can be your psychiatrist right now if you want.”

Ivy took a second to consider the offer. “You know what I’d rather you be?”

“Hm?” Harley prompted.

Pamela rolled over on top of her. “I’d much rather you be my wife.” She kissed her passionately but pulled back once Harleen began to giggle. “What?” She asked, a smile seeping into her expression as well.

“That was so smooth.” Harleen wrapped her arms around Pamela’s waist.

Ivy sighed as she leaned down and rested her forehead against the other woman’s. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “I am very, very smooth. That, Darling, will remain consistent.”

“Like puddin’.” Harleen giggled, her accent slipping for a moment as her worries melted away under Pam’s lean form. “Smooth like puddin’.”


	59. Puzzles

Harleen liked crossword puzzles. She liked almost every kind of puzzle, actually, but crosswords most of all because she was better with words than numbers. When Harleen was still competing for Gotham State’s gymnastics team, Sundays were her off day. Her only off day. Going down to the coffee shop a few blocks over from her dorm, buying a latte and a newspaper and completing the crossword puzzle was the most adult thing in her life at that point, and it felt good to pretend to be an adult. Now Harleen truly was an adult. She owned a house. A house with a porch. And she could afford a newspaper subscription. She had zero interest in anything but the sports pages and the crossword, so maybe, in some people’s opinion, the subscription was a waste, but it was worth every penny to help Harleen feel like an adult. True she didn’t need quite as much assistance in that department anymore. She did other adult things like carry a briefcase and wear clothing to work that needed to be dry cleaned. She drank espresso she made herself in her fancy espresso machine and her fridge contained more than cold pizza and energy drinks. But Sundays were still for crosswords…well actually…

Enter Pamela. Pamela with her vast intelligence and little self-awareness. Pamela who could move quickly on the legs she was born with; not wobble around with an ability she’d just been re-gifted. Pamela who sat with Harleen every morning, reminding her for the billionth time how the espresso machine worked, or which pan to cook eggs in before always- ultimately- deciding it would be quicker if she just did it for her. It’s true Harleen did a lot of adult things, but she was far less of an adult than Pamela. Not as smart, not as fast (anymore), just as pretty but not quite as beautiful…Harleen may not have been handicapped anymore but she was still disadvantaged. And the crossword…well…that one really ticked Harleen off. Pamela didn’t like crosswords, she thoughts they were a waste of time, but Pamela was still good at crosswords. Pamela did the New York Times crossword puzzle in pen…and Pamela stole Harleen’s on Sunday mornings.

This Sunday would be different, though. Harleen had hidden the paper before Pamela woke up, and she was going to do that goddamn crossword if it was the last thing she ever did.

There were a lot of things Harleen had come to learn about Pamela in the 6 years they’d been married, including the strange way she slept. The redhead was absolutely expressionless in sleep. Completely silent, too. Harleen had to lean over every morning to check her pulse because she’d seen coma patients show more signs of life. She assumed Pamela would be a restless sleeper for how truly little she slept. While Harleen rolled around all night, her arms splayed out, mumbling incoherently, the redhead remained stock still, always in the same position- on her side, her knees pulled tight to her chest. Sleep was a basic instinct, a biological need. Dreams bring unconscious desires to the forefront and the body reverts to its most intimate knowledge of itself. For Harleen, that was Harley, all energy and movement and emotion. For Ivy, it was Pamela- shame, possessiveness, and a desperate need for comfort.

Harleen usually tried to let Pam sleep in on Sundays, but unfortunately she was still conditioned for the schedule they’d established during Harleen’s paralysis. So the blonde waited for Pam’s eyes to shoot open at 6:00am sharp, and they did, right on the dot. Harleen had already been to the bathroom to brush her teeth because unlike Pam, she didn’t always smell amazing.

“I can do it myself now.” Harleen reminded her as the redhead slowly eased the grip on her own knees.

“Mhm.” Pamela nodded sleepily, her eyelids fluttering shut once more as she nuzzled her face deeper into the downy pillow. “Maybe I’d like to exercise with you.”

Harleen laughed, propping herself up on one elbow. “No you wouldn’t.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Pamela agreed.

“You can help me with my cardio later, though.” The blonde winked even though she knew her wife wouldn’t see it.

“Mmm,” Pam sighed, rolling over onto her back. “I love it when my body is referenced in the same context as a treadmill.”

Harleen ran her fingers through the other woman’s red hair, smoothing it down on the pillow. “I’m much more of a Stairmaster gal, you should know that by now. And I’d choose you over one of those stinky old things any day.”

“It’s good to be valued.” The redhead hummed her appreciation for the scalp massage.

“Oh, I’ll value you.” The blonde pounced, pressing the other woman into the mattress. “I’ll value you twice. Three times. You’ll be like ‘Yes, Harl. Value me!’” She rocked her hips into Pamela’s who began to laugh, but kept her eyes shut tightly, evidently not wanting to fully acknowledge the morning just yet.

“I would not say that.”

“No,” a feral grin stretched Harleen’s lips. “You’d say ‘Indubitably, Dr. Quinzel,” she affected a sub-par British accent, “’I am enjoying this pleasure I’m receiving very much. Please, Doctor, may I have some more?”

Pamela peered at the woman on top of her with one eye, her corresponding eyebrow arched. “Since when am I British?”

“Oh, Puddin’.” Harleen pulled on her best concerned expression. “Do you not know you’re British?”

Pamela groaned and snapped her eye shut once more. “Leave.”

“Fine.” The blonde leaned down and pecked her on the lips. “But I’m leaving because some of us actually have to work for our bodies, not because you told me too.”

“Noted.” Pam pushed the other woman off of her hips and nearly off the bed.

/

Harleen’s mission that day was to do 50 lunges on each leg and then 50 squats using only her bodyweight as resistance. She wasn’t quite ready to use added pounds yet. 100 lunges was roughly one lap around Pamela’s greenhouse. She’d had her legs back for 5 months now. The first two were spent learning how to walk, the third to jog, the fourth to run, and now in month five she was beginning to build up her leg muscle once more.

Her legs shook with each step, her agility and fluidity gone, having to be re-learned. Harleen gritted her teeth and focused on placing one foot in front of the other, taking deep breaths through her mouth and occasionally whimpering at the discomfort, feeling the lactic acid already creeping into her muscles.

This workout was pitiful. The fact that it was causing her any trouble at all was disheartening. Harleen used to train for seven hours a day when she was a teenager, and she’d worked so hard to maintain herself and now here she was, 34 years old- ‘old’ being the operative word- and barely able to lunge around her wife’s greatly reduced greenhouse.

‘Her wife’. Harleen’s jaw clenched as she struggled past the halfway point. ‘The one that had either gone back to sleep or was sunbathing at this point. Who’d never exercised a day in her life. Who got to work with the Justice League because she was an immortal metahuman, of all things.’

The former gymnast had to recruit every muscle fiber available to her to stay upright as she wobbled on the 43rd repetition. But it wasn’t enough. She still fell over, landing on her butt, feeling like she’d just fallen off the balance beam at a national competition. Harleen shook her head and pulled herself back to her feet. Refocusing her mind as she steadied herself against one of Pamela’s work tables. She took a deep breath and began again, fleetingly wishing Harley was still around to keep her motivated. She would get back to fighting shape, it would just require patience. A lot of patience.

About 20 minutes later, Harleen hobbled across the backyard and into the house. Pamela was standing in front at the stove, making breakfast for Harleen like she used to when the blonde couldn’t herself due to the height of her chair. Pamela’s red hair cascaded down her back over her white dress shirt which was buttoned lazily, showing most of her tight abdomen and naturally, she’d neglected to cover her panties with anything more substantial. Harleen would have rolled her eyes if the sight weren’t so arousing…so she elected to sit down in a huff at the table.

“The bacon’s in the oven.” Pam assured her, obviously thinking Harley’s sigh was aimed at the alarming lack of bacon on the stove.

Harleen grunted a semi-appreciative response as she shuffled through her case notes on the kitchen table. Pamela’s case briefs, on the other hand, were stacked in a neat pile, ready to be transferred to her briefcase on Monday. “Where’s the newspaper?” Harleen asked when she found it had disappeared from its hiding spot below her notes.

Without turning her attention from the eggs she was scrambling, Pamela pointed to the adjacent counter.

Harleen pushed herself off of the chair, swaying slightly on her tired legs. The newspaper was there alright, and it was already open to the crossword. The puzzle itself? Filled out in full. All in black pen. Harleen crinkled the paper in her hands and screamed silently, unsure why this specific thing bothered her so much. Just yet another reminder of Poison Ivy’s superiority. The blonde wanted so badly to ball up the paper and throw it at Pamela’s head, but then she took another look at the woman’s casual outfit, her relaxed stance, the fact that she was cooking breakfast for someone else…this woman standing before Harleen was Poison Ivy. The coldhearted villain, the reluctant hero…she was standing in Harleen’s kitchen cooking her breakfast because she wanted to. Harleen won. She truly had. This was the same woman who smirked at her through the glass at Arkham with more confidence than a human being should possess. Poison Ivy had been so sure she’d send yet another psychiatrist home crying…and now here she was, in said psychiatrist’s home, making her eggs and apologizing for not having the bacon ready. Ivy could complete as many crossword puzzles as she wanted for the rest of her life, and Dr. Quinzel would still come out on top.

Harleen set the newspaper aside and trailed her fingers along the countertop until she was close enough to slip her arms around Pamela’s waist and nuzzle her face into the crook of the other woman’s neck. As always, Ivy’s emerald form braced first before ultimately relaxing into Harleen’s arms.

“How did it go in the greenhouse?” Pamela asked as she absently stirred the eggs in the pan.

“Really good.” Harleen lied. “Almost too easy.”

“Excellent. Perhaps we should hold off on the injection then.” Pam turned off the burner.

“No, no, I mean…I didn’t feel that great.” Harleen tried not to sound too desperate. Ivy was referring to the agility serum she’d been giving Harley- the same she gave Catwoman. Harleen was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been able to complete that workout without it, and the idea of losing the strength she’d gained terrified her.

“OK, well…” Pam shimmied slightly, trying to give the blonde the hint that she’d be needing her full range of motion. “You can’t take it on an empty stomach.”

“Can I take _you_ on an empty stomach?” Harleen’s lips tickled Pam’s ear.

Ivy rolled her eyes, but was unable to keep the smile off her face as she twisted around in Harleen’s arms until she faced her. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

“I don’t know, Pam-a-lamb.” The blonde shrugged, her grin childish. “Maybe because you’re a genius?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Dr. Quinzel.” The redhead tsked. “You’re just predictable. It doesn’t take a genius to suss that out.”

Harleen giggled as she dipped her head to kiss the other woman’s neck. “If I’m so predictable, how bout’ you guess what I’m gonna do next.”

“Hmm…” Pam closed her eyes at the feeling of the blonde’s soft lips on her neck. “I think you’re going to fuck me on this counter top over here.”

“Why, Dr. Isley, I do declare,” Harleen began nudging her back towards the aforementioned counter top. “You really are a genius.”


	60. Snapshot

Batwoman ducked behind a car, Batgirl and Nightwing at her side. “Christ, since when did he have this many of them?!”

Nightwing peered through the car’s window assessing Firefly’s approaching swarm. “It definitely looks like they increased their membership.”

“They’ve got us pinned.” Batgirl lamented. “I thought you called for backup.”

“I did.” Batwoman gritted, inching up to get another look at the enemy. “They just seem to be taking their sweet time.”

“Honestly, the ungratefulness…” A cold female voice came from behind them, causing all three to jump. “And did you honestly dispatch the Justice League to combat a human with fancy gadgets?”

“Poison Ivy.” Batwoman sighed. “I specifically told you guys we were dealing with fire, and they sent us the hero whose weapons can be burned?”

“Tough luck, Honey.” Ivy sneered. “I was on call.”

Nightwing wasn’t paying attention, he’d returned his focus to the swarm. “How does Firefly recruit 80 people to walk around with flamethrowers because he told them to?”

“Humans are weak-minded.” Was Poison Ivy’s simple explanation. “Now can we get this started? I’m expected across town in 30 minutes.”

“Yeah.” Batwoman pulled smoke grenade from her utility belt. “Let’s go.”

/

Pamela rolled her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time as she glanced at her watch- again. Her caramel colored Paula Irving wig was styled into a loose bun on top of her head and her red dress next to her green eyes made it look like Christmas in July.

“Ma’am, are you sure you don’t want to order?” The waiter asked as he filled her water glass.

“She’s coming.” Pamela was beginning to grumble before it was drowned out with a “sorry, sorry, sorry” from the blonde rolling through the restaurant in her chrome chair.

“Honestly?” Pamela huffed as Harleen misjudged her final rotation and slammed herself against the table. “45 minutes late, I can’t believe you.”

The waiter cleared his throat uncomfortably and Pam shot him a look Harley knew was coming her way next. “Can we start with breadsticks?” The blonde asked, her expression cloyingly sweet in comparison to the other woman’s.

The young man nodded and ducked away almost quicker than was appropriate for the setting.

Pamela was still glaring, but her focus was now on the woman across the table.

“What?” Harleen was already defensive. “I had to change, OK?”

The redhead narrowed her eyes. “It took you 45 minutes to change from your suit into the clothes you wore to work today? You literally left before me.”

Harleen looked down at her blouse and pencil skirt. “I couldn’t get a taxi.”

“That’s because you pretend you’re still paralyzed and have a designated driver that takes you to and from your appointments.” Pamela reminded her as she opened the menu she’d already been over six times.

“Alright, you got me.” Harleen sighed. “Sorry, Babe. You look hot, though.”

“I know I do.” The redhead mumbled from behind her menu.

“Is that a new dress?” Harleen asked, trying to distract with a new conversation topic.

Pamela snapped the menu shut. “If you must know, yes. It is.

“Did you…buy it for date night?” The blonde ventured.

Pam doubled down on her scowl in an attempt to hide her blush. “Well now you’re just making me feel silly.”

“Well thanks a lot, Babe.” Harleen huffed playfully. “Now I’m starving, but not for food, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebrows and the redhead had to avert her gaze.

“Stop it.” She fought through her smirk as Harleen sat back, satisfied.

The waiter came back with the breadsticks and Harleen had one of them in her mouth before he’d even set the basket on the table.

“She was raised by wolves.” Pamela explained quickly. “And we are ready to order. I’ll have the house salad, no dressing or croutons, just balsamic vinegar served on the side. And she’ll have the steak, cooked well. She will not eat it if she sees pink. She’ll tell you she likes it, but we’ll end up throwing it in the garbage when we get home and I’d like not to pay for food we don’t eat.”

“C-can you repeat that?” The waiter asked nervously as he opened his order pad.

“No.” Pamela told him firmly.

“Ooh, do you guys have daiquiris?” Harleen asked.

“And one of those as well.” Pamela confirmed before shoeing him away.

Harleen grinned as she waited for them to be alone once more. “How much saliva you think’s gonna be in our food?”

“I’d expect your drink to be a 50/50 ratio.” Pamela sighed.

“Honestly, Pam.” Harleen crossed her arms. “Would it kill you to be a little nicer to people?”

“11 years together and you can’t figure that one out for yourself?” The redhead eyed her suspiciously. “For a therapist you are a terrible listener, Daffodil. And anyway, that boy is drowning in pheromones right now. He’d go to the restaurant next door and get that drink for you if I asked him to.”

“My knight in shining armor.” Harleen said dryly.

The redhead winked and a few moments of comfortable silence passed between them before Harleen spoke up once more.

“I have a question for you.”

“Then I hope I have an answer.” Pamela took a sip of her water.

Harleen drummed her fingers on the table, not making eye contact. “I know we’ve never talked about this…

Pamela waited silently, expectantly.

“I’m umm, just wondering…” Harleen cleared her throat. “Would you…do you think you could ever see yourself with kids?”

The redhead raised an eyebrow. “Human children, you mean?”

“Yes.” Harleen almost laughed. “Human children. Would you like to have human children with me?”

“I’m barren and you’re 37.” Pamela answered curtly. “We’re also superheroes with full time-professional day jobs as well. I don’t see where we’d find the time. I’m also not sure a child could survive long enough in my presence for me to administer it the vaccine since their immune systems wouldn’t be strong enough at birth.”

“OK, well first…” Harleen glared at her wife. “I’m sorry I’m not stuck at 33 like you are. Must be nice to not notice new wrinkles on your face every day. But 37 is not too old to be a mom, and you’re like 75, so get off your high horse, Babe.”

“I’m not ‘like’ 75, I am 75, and how would we explain that to the children?” Pamela asked, trying to be reasonable. “And I only mentioned your age in regards to reproductive health, not actual motherhood.”

“People have kids at 37 all the time!” Harleen retorted. “And anyway, we could still adopt.”

“OK, well my time management argument still stands.” The redhead crossed her arms. “We are simply too busy.”

“I’d quit my job at Arkham.” Harleen said suddenly. “Bruce pays you more than enough, I don’t have to work.”

“But you want to.” Pam reminded her. “And to me it sounds like even though we’ve never spoken about this, you’ve put a lot of thought into it.”

“Look, I just…ugh,” Harleen calmed herself down. “I just finally feel like myself again, and unlike you, I only have this one life, I don’t know if I can justify not ever having kids.”

“What are you saying?” Ivy’s voice was cold.

Harleen took a deep breath. “I’m saying that I love you, I’m married to you, and that I would like to have kids…preferably with you.”

“Oh, so suddenly I’m expendable?”

“I didn’t say that.” The blonde huffed. “But can you imagine what it’s like for me? Just for second? I know everything moves slowly for you, your own life doesn’t exactly flash before your eyes…but mine does. It’s all going really, really fast and I’m afraid there are things I’m missing out on.” Harleen’s voice grew thick and Pamela knew tears weren’t far behind. “Our life together is just a snapshot in a photo album for you, just a brief little adventure compared to the scope of your existence. For me, it’s all I’ll have. It’s my whole life. So even if you’re inconvenienced a bit, it will only be for a minute in the grand scheme of things. Do it as a favor for me, if you have to, but just say yes please

“But I already have a human child.” Pam protested. “Her name is Selina Kyle, she’s 43 years old, and she’s an absolute nightmare.”

“Yeah, Bruce and I are staging an intervention for her, so don’t worry about that.” The blonde told her offhandedly.

“Harleen.” Pamela reached across the table to take her hand and look her in the eye. “Every year, I hear my babies’ voices crying out as summer turns to autumn. Every single one. Now you are asking me to not only stand by as you expire, but also other children that I know I will grow to love? That will remind me of you? My burden is to watch them age, pass me by and wither, and then die surrounded by their families? It’s not just a snapshot, Harleen. This will create an entire bloodline for which I am partially responsible. Children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. I’ll watch them all die. Every single one. That is what you’re asking of me right now.”

Harleen’s big blue eyes were glassy with tears preparing to spill down her cheeks. “Please.”


End file.
